DethSorrow
by AbelValentine
Summary: Skwisgaar comes between Charles and Pickles quite unexpectedly- how will Pickles plot his revenge? Meanwhile; after the death of his father, Toki turns to Nathan for normalcy...but will his constant companionship confuse the singer? N/T, P/C and S/C.
1. Chapter 1

It hadn't been easy. Not for anyone. For Toki, the passing of his father had created a storm inside of his brain: a constant whirling of mixed emotions and regret that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. The rest of Dethklok, while keeping up the appearance of being uncaring and clueless, _did_ worry about the Norwegian's mental state. They each seemed to have their different reasons. Pickles and Murderface seemed hell bent on the likely possibility of Toki eventually snapping and killing them all in an ironic massacre. Skwisgaar concerned himself with Toki's guitar playing; he took it upon himself, a burden of course, to ensure the rhythm guitarist's presence at all rehearsals and performances. He didn't want Toki's sulk to affect the band and, in turn, sinfully affect Skwisgaar's reputation.

Nathan, though he'd only voiced it once, was just plain worried about Toki. It was some "fucked up shit", as he'd called it, and he hoped that Toki would somehow melt back into the fun-loving, carefree, childish guitarist that he once was. But out of everyone, the singer tended to act the most normal around Toki. Not necessarily because he thought that it would make it easier for the Norwegian, but mostly because it was just what Nathan did; he rarely dwelled on any one issue for too long.

When they returned from Norway, everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells. There were the random breakfasts where Toki would break out into sobs and run off; or band rehearsals where Toki would just stare blankly at the floor, becoming catatonic and inconsolable for hours on end. He always went to bed early, got up late and, recently, had taken up quite the drinking habits. The other band members began to hide the alcohol and forbid any errand-running Klokateers to buy it for the Norwegian.

On this particular Wednesday afternoon, Nathan was soaking in the hot tub, on his laptop. Toki was sitting across from him, completely silent, just staring at the water with his wide, ice-blue eyes. This had becomes quite commonplace; Nathan would be involved in an activity in Mordhaus, usually writing or watching TV, only to look up and realize that Toki was there. It wasn't creepy, it just seemed to become common practice. Nathan never asked him if he was okay, or what he was doing; he just went about his business normally. Toki never bothered him like he used to. He didn't ask random questions, beg Nathan for more solos or play noisy, Japanese video games on his PSP. He was just…there.

That was Toki's life for the time being. He just seemed to exist. He was floating, coasting—and occasionally a wave of horrifying emotions would sweep over him, almost too intense to handle and he would have to flee. It was getting quite embarrassing, but Nathan was the only one who left him alone. Skwisgaar was becoming more of a tyrant than usual. He was getting tired of Toki's mood and kept trying to motivate him to put his anger or sadness into his guitar playing. But Toki wasn't obsessive about his music, like the Swede was, and it wasn't really an outlet for him, so that was out.

Murderface and Pickles usually just stared at him, wide-eyed, like he might jump up and magically pull machine guns or machetes out of his pockets. They spoke to him like a child, (even more so than usual), and treated him far too delicately.

But Nathan was a good companion for peace. He wasn't very verbal and Toki knew that he never wanted to seem like he cared much, so it worked out.

"Hm," Nathan grunted, commenting on a photo he was looking at on the internet, "Brutal."

Toki snapped out of his daze and looked over at Nathan, feeling slightly glazed over.

"Whats?" His voice was very soft.

"Oh, uh…" Nathan hadn't expected Toki to be responsive. "I guess…the President was like…apologizing for the economy, but…he got a shoe thrown at him at this…press…thing."

Toki just blinked, looking quite owlish as usual. "Oh."

Nathan felt a bit uncomfortable now, with Toki staring at him expectantly.

"That, uh…that's the end. Of the story."

Toki nodded vaguely and looked away again, disappearing back into his own world of painful memories and confusing guilt.

Later that night, around ten o'clock, Toki was preparing for bed. He was sitting on his twin mattress, staring at his dusty model plane station, which hadn't been touched in months, while brushing his hair absentmindedly. There was an intrusive thud on the door as Skwisgaar hit it once with his fist and then barged in; he never was very tactful when it came to privacy. Toki simply looked up at him.

"Toki…uh…cames to says goodnights to you."

Toki furrowed his brow. That wasn't like Skwisgaar…

"Oh, uh…thanks you? Goodnights,den…"

Skwisgaar sighed, an edge to his voice. He shut the door slowly and then took a seat beside Toki.

"You knows…you has to snaps oudda dis funk, Toki. I's…don'ts know why yous ares so sad. After all that's he dids to you…"

It felt as if Skwisgaar had stabbed Toki in the stomach; a sharp twist of pain tensed his abdominals and he felt that he might be sick. Why was Skwisgaar choosing to talk about this now?

Toki looked away, panic in his eyes. He didn't want to try and talk things out, especially not in front of Skwisgaar: the man who'd often called him a "cry baby" for sounding emotional. The younger man simply shook his head, staring at the floor. Skwisgaar started to get frustrated at Toki's silence, feeling slightly embarrassed for even bothering to care.

"Fine," he mumbled, standing back up, "just stares likes a fish, ats de floor. Sees if I's care."

He started for the door and turned back to see if he'd gotten any response out of Toki whatsoever; but the Norwegian remained in his frozen silence, unable, it seemed, to even blink. Skwisgaar clenched his fists. He wanted the Toki back that he could tease, and rile up, and make fun of Murderface with. In truth, he'd always valued his Scandinavian brother, though completely devoid of the emotional depth required to voice it.

"You can'ts bes like dis forever," he hissed, leaving and slamming the door.

Toki felt like his chest had caved in. A familiar stinging began behind his eyeballs and his mouth tasted like acid. An invisible weight was forced down onto his strong shoulders and he leaned forward, curving into and hugging himself, as if he were going to wretch.

But before the tears began to fall, a thought popped into his mind; where was the _one_ place he could go that would help him forget and not feel so alone? The answer was all too clear and no more than one minute later, he found himself standing outside of Nathan's bedroom door, knocking softly.

Nathan had been fucking around with some song ideas, crumpled up paper that held discarded lyrics littering his bed. He opened the door, scratching the back of his head and yawning, figuring it was probably just Pickles wanting someone to do shrooms with. He was surprised to see Toki standing at the door, a sheepish look on his face, holding Deddy Bear in his arms. His hair looked gorgeously soft, falling around his shoulders as he looked up at Nathan with shameful eyes.

"Um…Nathans...?"

Nathan furrowed his brow, shifting his weight to his other leg nervously.

"Uh…yeah?"

Toki looked down at the floor and twisted his torso back and forth in a childlike way.

"Just thoughts, uh…maybes you wants to hangs out?"

He looked up at Nathan expectantly. The singer was temporarily at a loss for words; he couldn't ignore the small voice in the back of his head that ordered him to humor Toki for the sake of his recent loss, despite how odd he felt at having Toki into his room at such a late hour.

"Well, I, uh…" he stammered, "I was just getting ready for bed."

Toki kept his gaze and blinked. "Oh."

Toki turned to walk away, his face falling into a look of devastation. Nathan sighed heavily and reached out, grabbing the younger man roughly by the arm and pulling him into his room before anyone could walk down the hallway and catch him giving a fuck.

"Come on." Nathan shut the door and locked it. "You can sleep in here."

Toki's face lit up, his eyes wide, and for the first time in a long time…he seemed lighthearted again.

"Oh, Nathans, thanks you! I's be real quiets!"

He rushed over to the bed and stopped short when he saw the mess on top of the black, cotton comforter.

"Oh, uhh…" Nathan grumbled, moving to clear off the paper and scribbled-on notebooks, before tearing back the blanket to reveal the black sheets. "There."

Toki smiled, gleeful again, and climbed into the bed. He sank down into the sheets, covering up, still clutching his bear. He laid his head down on one of the large pillows and sighed happily. The tiny noise of contentment made Nathan feel funny inside…

Nathan turned off the light and walked to the bed…only to grab a pillow and throw it on the floor. He lay down beside the bed, hitting the floor with a thud. Toki furrowed his brow and sat up, turning to look in the singer's direction.

"Nathans? Yous goings to sleeps on da floor?" He sounded awfully confused.

"Uh…yeah," Nathan muttered, "I don' t really, uh…sleep with other guys in my bed."

Toki seemed unsatisfied with this answer.

"You choose da floors overs a bed? Dats is sillys. Comes on, I saids I would bes quiet!"

In an amazing act of boldness, he fell onto his stomach on the edge of the bed and reached down, grabbing the back of Nathan's shirt and tugging. But he didn't understand; Nathan wasn't worried about Toki making noise. Sleeping with another dude just…wasn't metal. Even if the dude was more like a chick than he knew.

Nathan hesitated, but eventually let Toki pull him up onto the bed. Maybe if Toki just lay on his side Nathan would only be able to see his hair and could imagine it was a girl.

Wait…that was fucked up.

He grunted as Toki smiled, thankfully, and turned on his back, finally on his side of the giant, king-sized bed.

"Nathans?"

"Hm?"

"…thanks you."

And both men fell silent, each falling into a fitful sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Mmm, deeper…"

Pickles laughed bitterly. "I'm tryin', Jesus…"

"O-Ohhh…y-yes, that's good…"

"Uhhnn…Gad, Charlie, ya like that? Ohhh…yeah…there…shit…"

Charles wrapped his legs more tightly around Pickles, his fingers digging into the drummer's back. The sex had always been amazing, ever since they first started fooling around a year ago. It seemed to be the only hobby Charles had in which he delighted in being submissive and vulnerable (and not only because Pickles refused to be dominated).

Charles wasn't young anymore, but Pickles could definitely make him feel so. The manager had thought his once impressive stamina to be a thing of the past; but he and the redhead could go for hours on end it seemed. And now, as Pickles thrust in and out of him for the second time tonight, Ofdensen was wishing it would never end.

"A-Ahh…J-Jesus, Ah'm gonna-….o-…OH!...."

Charles felt his own climax nearing as he bit the drummer's shoulder in an attempt to hold back a loud moan. Pickles really hated it when the manager restrained himself in bed, in any way, and so he let out a feral growl.

"Jes' fuckin' scream, Charlie…"

"N-No…" Charles was close to unhinging, letting his head fall back and eyes close.

"S-Scream…please…please….a-ahh…"

Pickels began to go at a much faster pace, reaching down to stroke the older man's cock, trying to over-stimulate him devilishly, to coax out an extraordinary reaction.

"P-Pickles, N-..!!"

"DO IT! FUCKING SCREAM!"

The drummer was getting off at the power trip, feeling himself dangerously close. But he wouldn't give in until he got what he wanted. Both men could be quite stubborn.

"I want you to, Charlie…" he whispered fervently in the manager's ear, "I wanna hear it…" He stroked faster, moving his hand to touch his balls.

Charles pulled Pickles closer, his entire body on fire. He gasped, all of his muscles tensing, begging for release. He didn't want to give Pickles the satisfaction of undoing him _entirely_, but…it was almost too much, all of the sensations and sadistic demands.

Finally, Charles caved; he threw his head back onto the pillow, arching his back, and screamed the drummer's name—his real name—releasing himself into orgasm. That was all Pickles needed and with one more violent thrust into Charles, he came inside of him with a loud and grateful groan.

His body quivered and he collapsed onto Charles, who wrapped his arms around Pickles, breathing quite unevenly. It was in moments like these that Ofdensen felt repaid for the sacrifice of a real relationship with the drummer. Pickles had made it very clear that they were a private couple: no dinners, no public appearances, no admission to their relationship whatsoever to the other guys.

It had all begun with a bit of harmless flirting, mostly on Pickles' part. But the drummer was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it, and he pursued Charles quite zealously when enticed. Surprisingly enough, the sex came months later, after many nights of late movies and chats in the manager's separate apartment attached to Mordhaus. Perhaps this is why Charles seemed okay with their arrangement; it hadn't seemed, at first, to be all physical.

Pickles was unexpectedly intelligent and eclectic, so it made it easy for Charles to feel drawn to him. Dethklok was really the only people the manager had constant contact with and Pickles' knowledge in business and the politics side of music had been the source of many good conversation starters.

"Mmm…thanks, kid," Pickles chuckled. He loved to patronize Charles in a playful way.

"Kid? Hmph." He pushed Pickles off of him slowly, but turned to lie on his chest.

"Heh, hey…I'm nat _too_ much younger 'an you."

They lay there for a while, letting their breathing even out and their bodies come back to earth. Then Pickles reached over to the little overnight bag that he often brought that was sitting on the dresser. He pulled out a joint and a lighter.

Charles sat up on his elbows and gave Pickles a disapproving look.

"What?" Pickles asked, though knowing very well what that look meant.

The manager had asked Pickles, on several occasions, not to bring drugs into his home. It wasn't so much a moral issue as it was just an annoyance—legally, hygienically and sexually. Once the drummer did a drug, he was either too far gone to even pay attention to Charles, or he became insufferably talkative and touchy.

"Ah, c'man, Charlie, it's jes a joint. You wanna smoke?"

"No, Pickles, I do not want to smoke. And I don't want you to, either." The aggravation in Charles' voice was hard to ignore. The drummer's substance abuse was a constant cause for conflict in their already strained relationship.

"Would you like to go grab a bite to eat instead?" Charles thought he would push his luck, feeling that the evening was taking a turn for the worse anyway.

Pickles shot him a dark look. "Ya know I can't do that."

"Yes, I do," Ofdensen admitted, defeated. "Well, you're not smoking in here. Period."

"Sheesh, yer like my dad or somethin'," he muttered, immediately regretting it as Ofdensen rose out of bed and walked to the closet, pulling out his silk robe. "C'man, don't be this way…"

"You know," Charles said offhandedly as he tied his robe closed, "I have a lot of work to catch up on. If you want to get high, you should go find one of the guys to do it with you." His voice was an odd mix of purposeful monotony and irritation.

Pickles frowned. He didn't want to be kicked out, but he _did_ want to get fucked up…

"Fine."

Pickles got up, pulling on his jeans and his black tank top, grabbing his bag, heading for the door to the hallway. Charles stopped him, taking his arm gently.

"Please don't leave like this…"

Pickles turned to him, sighing. "I jes…don't feel good enough for you sometimes, Charlie. I'll…see ya tomorrow."

And with that, he exited swiftly through the front door, leaving the manager to the work he said he needed to complete…the work that didn't even exist.

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Charles arrived at his office rather late, having stayed up to read…alone. But when he turned on his light, he smiled softly. On his desk sat a vase full of blood-red roses and a small note. He set down his coat and briefcase, before taking a small whiff of the flowers and opening the card.

_I'm sorry…I should have stayed..._ it read.

He almost laughed. "I know, you silly boy…" he said aloud, and sighed.

How the hell could he stay angry now? Though the inconvenience of Pickles' lifestyle was a constant source for bitterness in the manager's mood, he couldn't deny that he had no other choice but to accept it. The drummer _wasn't_ changing, as far as he could tell, so it was best to spend the occasional night alone…instead of every night.

Before Charles could even settle in, he heard the twin, wooden doors to his office burst open and a familiar, intrusive, accented voice.

"Ofdensens I needs to drives buts I _can'ts_! Dis is dildoes, I needs my license!"

Skwisgaar. Oh, how the man completely ignored privacy and indulged in making such entrances. Aside from Pickles, Skwisgaar was in his office the most often; usually with an elusive problem with American culture in general, or another demand to kick Toki out of the band. This time it seemed to be neither.

The Swede had never gotten his license; not in Sweden, nor in the States. That hadn't kept him from driving, but he was more than terrible at it. He proved that months ago, after he and Toki had been forced to go to driving school after drunk driving and wrapping their car around a telephone pole. Charles had made sure, after they both failed, that neither Scandinavian would be behind a wheel any time soon.

"Good afternoon, Skwisgaar," Charles muttered, sighing slightly, but keeping his same formal tone. "Now…what is it? You want to get your license? That can be arranged. I'll hire a driving instr-"

"NOS!" Skwisgaar plopped down in front of his desk in the cushy red chair, crossing his lanky arms. His face was contorted into an annoyed grimace until he noticed the flowers. "Hey, whos gots you dose?"

He got up and walked to them carefully, touching a flower with surprising tenderness.

Charles was glad he didn't flush easily. "I did a favor for a colleague. He sent me these."

_Ah, shit..why did I have to say "he"? _he thought, mentally slapping himself.

But Skwisgaar didn't really catch the potential slip and just shrugged. He figured it was business etiquette, just shit he didn't have the patience to care about. He sat back down and looked up at Charles expectantly.

"Anyways, I don'ts wants de drivings school thing. Dats…didn'ts works out too wells last time. I wants YOUS to teach me."

He smiled proudly, as if this were the best idea he'd ever had. Charles raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, what? You want…_me_ to teach you?"

Skwisgaar nodded, "Ja." He raised his eyebrow defiantly. "You gots a problems wid dat?"

"Skwisgaar, my time is very valuable. I can't drop my work to teach you how to drive." He began to move some files around on his desk, occupying his hands. Why did he feel so nervous with the Swede's blue eyes on him like that?

Skwisgaar just watched him, a frown on his face. He didn't like feeling unimportant.

"I ams having four cars ands no license! You teach me or I's fire you." He crossed his arms and nodded once, thinking it quite a fair ultimatum.

Charles hid a smile. He knew that the blonde's threat was empty—if he were to actually try and have him fired, which he most likely wouldn't, Pickles wouldn't stand for it. Finally, he sighed, and removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He wasn't getting rid of Skwisgaar any time soon unless he agreed to help.

"Fine. Look, I'll give you a lesson tonight, okay? A quick one." In truth, he'd hoped that Pickles would come to him again tonight, wanting to make up properly.

Skwisgaar jumped up, smiling. "Goods! I's will meets you heres at six." And with that, he left, leaving the door wide open and forgetting a "goodbye". Typical. There was a good chance that Skwisgaar wouldn't even remember once the evening rolled around; or perhaps he would lose interest. It wouldn't be the first short-lived pursuit that he had proposed and most likely wouldn't be the last.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nathan awoke to a tiny sound from the strong, yet comparatively petite man lying on his chest. He felt quite disoriented and it took him a few moments to gain his bearings; Toki _was_ laying on him, his arms wrapped around the singer and a content look on his soft face.

He nearly freaked, ready to jump out of the sheets and throw the Norwegian across the room. But the look on Toki's face…the way his lips were just barely parted and turned slightly upward into a little smile…the way his brow was slightly raised and at ease…the way he finally looked like a real person again, rather than a walking corpse…it was all enough to keep Nathan frozen, on his back.

Something about Toki's touch was feminine; it might've been the way the guitarist was curled against him, or it could've been the faint, flowery scent coming from his soft, extremely long hair. It made Nathan slightly uneasy, but wasn't enough to drive him away.

He knew this position—if this were a female, he would wrap his arm around her and pull her closer, leaving his hand on her delicate, bare shoulder. Toki's sigh made it easier to imagine that this was a familiar morning after a night of sex with a particularly cuddly woman.

But he had to stop himself and remember that it wasn't. This was Toki. And he'd simply allowed the other man sleep in his room to make him feel better about his dad's death. That was all.

"Nnng…" Toki groaned slightly and his eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Nathan and smiled lazily, looking dazed. "Mornings."

"Uh…hi," Nathan stammered, looking down at him. They both froze, staring at each other momentarily…until Toki finally realized where he was and how he was laying.

"Oh! Sorry, Nathans!" He got up, running his fingers through his hair, seeming pretty nonchalant about their current situation.

Nathan decided it best to just pretend that this wasn't extremely awkward and Toki _hadn't_ just slept peacefully and seemed quite happy on his chest.

"What fucking time is it?" He asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up, placing his feet on the hardwood floor. He hadn't exactly slept well; Toki, though he'd promised to "be quiets" had been quite the opposite. He'd muttered in his native tongue, sometimes jerking and whimpering. Nathan had thought to nudge him, but refrained, figuring that his nightmares were uncomfortable enough. He didn't want to frighten Toki anymore than he already was.

"I don'ts know, uh…" Toki squinted, looking towards the digital clock on the nightstand. "One thirty?"

"What?...really?...wow." Maybe he'd slept better than he thought.

Toki stood up, grabbing Deddy Bear and shooting Nathan a grateful smile.

"Thanks fors last nights, Nathans," he almost whispered.

"Ah, don't…say it like that. S'fine. Just…go get some breakfast and…don't tell anyone I let you sleep in here." He didn't want the other guys picking up on an innuendo or undertone that Toki was incapable of considering.

"Okays…sees ya later!" And Toki left, a familiar and happy bounce in his step.

He showered and dressed, deciding to pay Skwisgaar a visit. He felt slightly guilty, not having accepted the older guitarist's concern the night before. Despite the constant annoyance that Skwisgaar provided by forcing him to practice day in and day out, the Swede was much like an older brother to Toki. He didn't always give the best advice, but he at least listened and took care of him…to an extent. Ladies always seemed to come first.

And so he was lucky that Skwisgaar _was_ alone and, surprisingly enough, had been all night. He'd even been up for a few hours; he almost always slept later than Toki…but then again, everyone did.

Toki knocked softly on the chamber door that led to Skwisgaar's pristine and oddly decorated, dungeon-like room. The blonde opened it, looking a bit wary at seeing Toki—that is until he noticed the smile on the rhythm guitarist's face.

"Uh, heys, Toki," he mumbled cautiously. He hoped that Toki hadn't come to just stare at him again, lost in his own world.

"Hej, Skwisgaar. Cans I, um…comes in?" He raised his eyebrows slightly, his hair still damp and hanging limp down his shoulders.

Skwisgaar nodded and opened the door wider. He was listening to their most recently recorded studio pieces that were without vocals or bass (they had yet to be mixed in). He did this often, listening to their songs piece by piece in order to perfect any blips in the rhythm or flow. This is usually how he detected "problems" with Toki's guitar playing, often scolding him and threatening to re-record the riffs.

The blonde plopped down on his bed, on top of his fur comforter and lay back on his elbows, looking at Toki expectantly.

"Sos…whys you comes here?" He didn't sound angry, just curious. Toki seemed more alive today than he had for the past few weeks.

Toki bit his lip nervously and rocked on his heels a bit, still standing by the door. He twirled his hair in between his fingers; he wasn't aware of how womanly this made him look.

"I just…cames to say I's sorry."

Skwisgaar sighed and nodded, as if he was all too deserving of the apology.

"Ja, s'okay. I'ms just glads to…sees you…hm…nots likes a zombies no more."

"I's not a zombzies, buts…I's…I's promise to be betters now, okay? Yous were rights, I…I can'ts be sads forever." He looked down at his feet, more surprised than anything that he had admitted this to himself.

He had thought about it late last night, while listening to Nathan's soothing, even breathing; his father was gone, but the memories of his abuse weren't. He still needed to live with his past, but forgiveness seemed more possible than ever now. He wasn't sure what brought on this silver lining to his stormy mind.

Skwisgaar smiled genuinely; a smile that had made many women (and some men) weak in their knees. For the younger man, it just meant relief that he'd said something to please his idol. The Swede stood up and walked to Toki, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Goods, little Toki. Nows…let's go practice, ah?"

The afternoon slipped by: Skwisgaar helped Toki work on his scales and eventually they were joined by a very hung over Pickles. The redhead felt well enough and helped keep time for their run through of the recent tracks, sometimes randomly breaking into a Metallica or Disturbed riff, much to Skwisgaar's appraisal. After a few hours, Toki had skipped off to dinner and Skwisgaar was putting his precious Gibson in its case.

"Pfft, gots to go gets drivink lessons now." He tossed his blonde hair behind him and stood up, preparing to leave.

"Driving lessons? Dude, I thought you…kinda gave up on 'at, heh," Pickles chuckled, coming out from behind the drum set. It wasn't rare that the two found themselves alone in the studio; though they rarely talked about anything other than music.

"Ja, wells…Ofdensens teachinks me sos I can learns correctlys." He didn't notice the falling expression on the drummer's face.

"Oh, uh, Ch-…Ofdensen's teachin' ya, huh? Kinda weird."

"Ja…I askededs him tos, ya know? He seems to bes goods ats explainink things." Skwisgaar shrugged and grabbed his guitar, heading out.

"Yeah, totally," Pickles said absently as he whipped out his phone to text the manager. Charles really hated that particular form of communication, but Pickles insisted. It was easier and safer than risking a phone call, in his opinion.

_Hey, I didn't know you were a driving instructor. Is there anything you can't do?_ He texted.

After about a minute, Charles texted back.

_He insisted. It shouldn't take long. Will call you when I am released. Please come tonight._

Pickles smiled, deciding a little dirty implication was in store.

_Oh, I will. Don't worry._

Charles didn't respond, but he knew that the older man was rolling his eyes. Worth it.

An hour later, Charles waited for Skwisgaar in his office. It was now six fifteen and he was rearranging the various lamps, paper weights and pen holders on his desk. Why the hell was he so damn fidgety? It frustrated him to no end. Normally he was quite good at seeming placid and collected; but there was something about Skwisgaar that had always made him rather edgy.

Skwisgaar was always suggestive without meaning to be; it was the unconsciously sexy things that the blonde did that made him appealing, in Charles' opinion. Of course the Swede knew he was gorgeous and desirable. But Ofdensen preferred to notice the smaller things; like the way Skwisgaar looked when practicing. That look of complete and utter reverie, of surrender mixed with impossible concentration. Or the way the guitarist traced small circles on the table, or absentmindedly traced his lips while the manager was addressing the band. He had watched Skwisgaar's long and slender fingers often, he realized, feeling slightly unbalanced by the thought.

_Why the hell am I thinking about Skwisgaar's fingers?_ He furrowed his brow, shaking a growing image in his mind.

Finally, Skwisgaar waltzed into his office casually, looking quite different. He was wearing a long-sleeved, steel gray, cotton shirt and dark jeans, his hair thrown back in a messy ponytail. Charles _forced_ himself to look just as relaxed, smiling slightly.

"Good evening, Skwisgaar."

"Ja, hej," he nodded to the manager, shutting the door behind him. "I thinks maybe we starts wid da Honda? Nathans says is easiests to drive?" He raised his eyebrows, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Jesus. He had no idea. No clue how fucking sexy he looked. Charles laughed, internally. Of _course_ he knew. And of _course_ he was physically attracted to Skwisgaar; after all, he _was_ gay and the Swede _was_ particularly perfect, physically. With his hair back, Charles could see Skwisgaar's eyes more clearly it seemed. They were a beautiful shade of dark blue and shaped quite cat-like, very narrow and handsome.

"Um, yes. I think that would be wise." He stood and took the keys from Skwisgaar. "Let's go out to the furthest road in Mordland and practice there. We shouldn't be bothered; I informed the staff of our lesson."

Skwisgaar nodded, smiling, knowing that he'd picked a perfect instructor.

"Ja, goods idea. Let's go den."

Ofdensen had never felt so strange—walking down the halls of Mordhaus with Skwisgaar, to the massive garage near the southern wing. There, in a private area, were all the cars of the band members, including the Murdercycle. They bypassed the familiar bike and found a ruby red, 2009 Honda Civic instead.

"I'll drive us to the edge of the island and then let you take over."

Skwisgaar nodded and opted for the passenger seat willingly. He had to adjust the seat for his longer legs and for a more relaxed position. Charles buckled his seatbelt after closing his door, not bothering to scold the Swede for forgetting. There would be no one on the roads anyway.

He pulled out of the garage and began driving down the empty highway toward the beach. Skwisgaar sighed, looking out the window, and, out of habit, placed his hand on the back of Charles' headrest. The older man didn't think much of it, but he did happen to glance at the guitarist out of the corner of his eye; he looked completely relaxed, all stretched out…his lean muscles visible through his tight shirt…

_No, stop letting your mind fall into the gutter, Charles._

"Do yours evers notice hows de…de clouds, dey-…is like…" He shook his head. "Can'ts say it in English."

Those were the only words spoken the entire trip.

After about ten minutes of driving, they reached the furthest point on Mordland from their home. The road was elevated several feet and looked down on the beach below. Charles parked the car by the side of the road and got out. Skwisgaar did the same.

"Here," Ofdensen called as he handed the blonde the keys, "Go ahead and get in."

"Ja, okay."

They switched spots and both men chuckled slightly as they worked to adjust their new seats accordingly.

"Okay, um..." Charles began, looking over at Skwisgaar's feet. "That's the gas, and-"

Skwisgaar gave him an annoyed look.

"I knows dat. Gives me little credits, ah? I thinks…" he looked down at the gearshift, putting his hand on it. "Likes dis? To…to da 'D' ?" He pushed his foot down on the brake and shifted gears. The car jolted slightly, but he kept his foot held down.

"Yes, good, now…ease up on the brake and onto the ro-….Skwisgaar, slow DOWN!"

The Swede had shot forward after a few seconds of "easing" his foot up and pushing back down on the gas instead. His long, nimble fingers wrapped around the steering wheel and he widened his eyes.

"I thinks…I's going to KILLS US BOTH!" he yelled, more than slightly out of control.

He let his foot off the gas, but the car was already at forty miles per hour. He swiveled around the winding road, moving in and out of his intended lane, and Charles immediately regretted the spot he'd picked for training.

"Skwisgaar, hit the brakes! Hit the br-"

And his face almost smashed into the dashboard as the Swede complied, stomping his boot down on the brake pedal immediately. Ofdensen was caught by his now taut seatbelt and thrown back against the seat. They sat for a moment, regaining composure, and looked over at each other.

"Now," Charles murmured, slightly frazzled, smoothing his hair, "let's…take it slower, all right?"

Skwisgaar nodded, his eyes wide.

"Let's…keep it below thirty."

And so for the next few hours, the two men risked their lives with Skwisgaar at the hands of the wheel. The blonde became an agile driver, however, his precise and dexterous nature kicking in. He became obsessed with going fast enough to make the manager uneasy; it was sadistically delighting to see the usually put together man slightly anxious.

They practiced parking, which Skwisgaar was quite good at, and ended up parked on the same cliff where they had begun.

"Perhaps I should drive home," Charles suggested, stepping out. The sun was setting against the horizon and Skwisgaar leaned against the driver's side door, crossing his arms. He was looking out at the ocean, the ginger lighting from the sunset illuminating his pale face.

Charles took the moment to take in a bit of Skwisgaar's beauty, trying not to be too obvious about watching him.

Skwisgaar nodded.

"Ja, ok…but let's nots go yet, ah?"

He climbed to sit on the hood of the car, leaning back against the windshield. He stretched out his long legs and crossed them, looking impossibly skinny. He put his hands behind his head, relaxing, watching the sunset. Then he glanced over at Charles and smiled softly.

"Comes up here. Let's watch de suns, hm?"

Charles hesitated, his mind jumping to Pickles. Perhaps another hour…it would be all right.

Akwardly and cautiously, he followed Skwisgaar and sat beside him on the hood. He didn't dare lie back, not wanting to relax _that_ much. But he did sigh as he followed the Swede's gaze to the ocean.

He had never really gotten to know the guitarist. It seemed that everything could be assumed; he was a promiscuous, but dedicated, typical rock star who didn't give a damn about anything, or anyone, but himself. Like the other band members, he had his moments of brilliance, of compassion…but it was rare. He had never seemed too intuitive, but Charles felt that this was a cause of the language barrier between him and pretty much everyone he knew, aside from Toki. And Toki couldn't be much for philosophical conversations.

Charles was surprised at how quiet Swkisgaar was; in a more social setting, the blonde would blab on about anything that might impress his company. But nothing escaped the blonde's lips for a solid fifteen minutes, save an occasional sigh. It was actually the manager who broke the silence.

"You know…I rarely stop to appreciate the beauty of this island. Mordhaus can be so…dark."

Skwisgaar almost laughed and glanced over at Charles.

"Ja, I's guess…is supposeds to bes dark. But its is nice…to comes to de ocean."

There was an authority, a sense of safety about Ofdensen that relaxed Skwisgaar; after the past year, there was an edge to the blonde whenever he left the house. After an attempt at his life by rabid fans—as that was the case, in his memory—it felt secure to have someone as capable as the manager around.

He smiled, thinking that the safety he felt right then wasn't simply an issue of security; he never thought about the fact that he had known the older man for several years now and felt quite comfortable around him.

"You know," Skwisgaar began, stretching lazily, still watching Charles, "we don'ts really…knows a lots about you. Yous have…beens our manager fors a long time."

Charles smiled and looked back at Skwisgaar, his features softer than before and not as stern as they were known to be. The Swede's statement was a long jump from him calling Charles their "butler" not too long ago.

"Yes, I suppose…we have been together for quite some time. You'll find I'm much the private type. But…if you have any specific questions, feel free to ask."

He decided that this was an acceptable opportunity to provide Skwisgaar with, as long as Charles was allowed to be as vague as he wanted to be. He most certainly could _not_ divulge many things: mainly about his past and specifics about his love life.

Skwisgaar smiled, rather devilishly, and lifted himself up onto his elbow, as if meeting a challenge.

"Alrights," he traced his lips and looked up at the clouds as he thought of where to begin, and didn't notice the manager shift slightly, in a nervous manner. Finally, his head snapped towards Charles and he cleared his throat.

"Whats did yous do before yous were being our manager?"

"I worked for the government. I was a businessman," he answered, thinking that the truth was quite far off…but still within the realm of his reply. Skwisgaar didn't seem to think too hard on it and went on to his next question.

"Hows come you don'ts has a lady?"

Charles chuckled. He knew that this question was going to come.

"Skwisgaar, it's because I'm gay. I don't date women."

Skwisgaar raised his eyebrows slightly, but it was almost an impressed look. The Swede had always been the most sexually open member of Dethklok and this extended to accepting many different sexual orientations.

"Sos…hows come you don'ts haves a boy, den?"

Charles smiled. He wasn't sure why, but the easygoing way that Skwisgaar had accepted his lifestyle was rather endearing.

"I'm quite busy, as you could imagine. Running this franchise that Dethklok has created is more than a full time job."

Skwisgaar narrowed his eyes slightly. Charles was an excellent liar, but the blonde didn't think _any_ excuse was good enough for not getting some tail. After all, to him, sex was like air. But he let it go…for now.

"Okay…um…" he looked around, as if the next question was floating around them and he had to find it. "Do yous likes me?"

Charles hadn't expected this one.

"Excuse me?" he asked, slightly confused.

Skwisgaar simply smiled handsomely, pulling his knees to his chest in an interested way.

"Ja, do yous likes me? You knows…likes…to bes around?"

Charles furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure why this was being asked of him, or why it even mattered to Skwisgaar.

"Um, yes. Sure. Tonight was nice."

Skwisgaar laughed. "But others times…you mights be thinkinks I'ms just a sluts, ah?"

He frowned slightly and looked back at the ocean.

"Yous thinks I ams being just a stupid sluts who cans play de guitar. Ands is it. Just a prettys little stupid boy."

Charles had no idea where this was coming from and it made him slightly uneasy to feel that Skwisgaar was opening up to him in this way; it felt too intimate for their relationship. Their _business_ relationship.

"Why…would you say that, Skwisgaar? Why would I think such trite things about you? Er…mean things," he added, thinking that the Swede probably wouldn't know what "trite" meant.

The blonde simply shook his head, his expression grave.

"I don'ts knows why…buts I cares about whats you think. I's always have. Maybes because you ams so smart, or somethinks. Maybes because you…uh…" he seemed to be losing his ability to speak intuitively in English, but he tried his damned hardest, "because yous ams respektingfuls."

"Respectful?" Charles offered, feeling quite shaken.

"Ja, dats." He looked over at Charles and smiled softly. "Weirds, huh?"

The manager simply shook his head, at a loss for words; and that was exceptionally rare. They sat in silence for another few minutes until Skwisgaar finally spoke again.

"Do yous mind if I's be asking yous ones more thing?"

"No, of course not…"

"…who really sents you dose flowers?"

The older man swallowed hard. He finally found it completely impossible to lie to Skwisgaar. And so he chose ambiguity again.

"A man that I am dating."

Skwisgaar smiled softly and nodded.

"I thoughts so."

He rose and jumped down off the car. He turned to Ofdensen, tossing him the keys.

"Yous are rights. Yous shoulds drive us back. I sucks." He moved to the passenger side, opening the door. "Maybes…next times you can asks me da questions."

Charles slid off the car gracefully and walked to the driver's side. He nodded, smiling.

"I would like that." And he meant it. After tonight, there was a lot more he wanted to know about the other man. He hadn't expected Skwisgaar to be so easy to talk to.

They drove home without word; whether it was an embarrassed silence or not, Charles couldn't tell, but he agreed to it all the same. Once they were home, they walked inside together and Skwisgaar turned to Charles, patting his shoulder in a friendly manner.

"Thanks for de lessons. I's will needs more, though."

"Yes, I can see that," Charles chuckled, then handed the Swede back his keys. "Perhaps…Sunday night? The same time? I believe I could spare a few hours then."

Skwisgaar seemed particularly pleased with Charles' willingness and he nodded.

"Ja, I's sees you den."

And he left Ofdensen in front of his office, turning the corner to the corridor towards the living room. Charles opened his office door and flipped on the light. It was almost nine o'clock. He packed up his things and continued home to his attached apartment.

Once inside, he pulled his phone from his pants pocket and dialed Pickles' number.

"Hey Charlie," the drummer answered, after eight rings. He was probably removing himself from a slightly crowded room.

"I just got home…are you coming over tonight?"

"Yee-uh, I jes'…I'll be there a little later, okee?"

"Yes, that's fine. Should I make you dinner?"

"Nah, s'fine. I already ate, anyways. See ya soon."

"Goodbye."

It turned out that "a little later" meant "hours later" and it wasn't until one o'clock in the morning that Pickles slipped into the apartment, using his own key. Charles was in bed, underneath the covers, his hair still slightly damp from a shower.

He was sleeping and Pickles decided it best not to wake him—until he did so accidentally by tripping on his own foot while tip-toeing to the bed. Charles jolted slightly and then looked in the drummer's direction. His voice was slightly scratchy.

"Pickles?...what time is it?"

The redhead crawled underneath the sheets and wrapped his arms around the manager from behind, burying his face in Charles' neck.

"It's, uh…a little before one. I'm sarry, I gat caught up in somethin'."

"I see…" He could smell alcohol on the drummer's breath and he didn't bother turning over.

And so Pickles just held him, not feeling too deserving of sex anyway. After about ten minutes, Charles could hear his lover snoring softly, even though he, himself, was now wide awake. He stared at his window that looked out over the western part of the island. He couldn't keep his mind from repeating something that Skwisgaar has said earlier that day…

"…_I cares about whats you think." _

He thought of the way Skwisgaar had wanted to watch the sun with him…and the way he had actually been interested in Charles, wanting to know all about him. He felt good. He felt important.

But above all…he felt guilty.


	3. Chapter 3

Nathan hadn't expected that Toki's company in bed at night would become a continuous occurrence; nonetheless, every night around eleven, the singer would leave his door unlocked, thus allowing the Norwegian to enter at his disposal. There wasn't much conversation and thankfully, for Nathan, no insistence on cuddling (which he had slightly expected). Toki was usually gone when he would wake up, rising early like he used to.

Everyone had noticed Toki's return to his old self: bickering with Skwisgaar about his guitar playing, eating enough candy during the day to give him diabetes—he even began working on his model planes again. He was tolerable once more, to the extent that he had always been anyway. And he didn't even ask Pickles for Vodka to store in his room anymore.

Sleeping with Nathan, platonically of course, was getting quite addictive. Toki could hardly contain himself; during the day, he even felt _excited_ to think that it was almost bedtime. He'd never slept so peacefully, so safely. His nightmares had subsided. And though they were filled with equally…confusing…dreams, he preferred them much more.

Having Nathan beside him while he slept was like having Conan the Barbarian for a bodyguard. Not even the memory of his father's abuse could harm him at the side of such a guardian. So as nighttime neared, Toki grabbed his bear, an impossibly large grin on his face, and skipped off to Nathan's room.

It was closed, as usual, and Toki clutched the handle and turned. It was locked.

_Locked? Nathans never locks his door for me. Maybe he…isn't here?_ he thought in his native tongue.

Toki decided to knock—maybe he was in the bathroom or something and didn't want the embarrassment of being caught taking a shit. He furrowed his brow as he heard shuffling and a grunt that was obviously from Nathan. But then he heard a more disturbing sound; a girl's voice. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but it was an inquisitive sound.

Before Toki could run away, abashed and saddened, Nathan threw the door open.

"What?!"

He had the black sheets pulled around the lower half of his body. Toki momentarily glanced past him to see the slender, beautiful brunette that was perched on his bed, covering herself with one of his pillows. Toki widened his eyes and looked up at Nathan.

"I's-…u-uhh…w-…"

He couldn't form a word; his heart sank deep into his chest and he swallowed hard. Nathan had lost track of the time and had momentarily forgotten about Toki's continued appearances at his door at night. He sighed, seeing the despair in the younger guitarist's eyes.

"Toki, look…I'm busy, dude. I'm sorry."

Toki nodded, still unable to speak. He let Deddy Bear droop as he dropped his arms and turned to walk away, much like the first night that Nathan had allowed him to stay. Nathan stopped him verbally.

"Toki, c'mon man…I-….didn't know…what time it was, uh…"

He scratched the back of his head. Why the hell was Toki the only one in the _world_ who could make him feel guilt? Toki glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes slightly hopeful.

"It's elevens thirty, Nathans," he nearly whispered. But he stopped, wondering if Nathan might change his mind…though he doubted he was going to seem like better company.

"Oh, uh…" _Shit. _"Hold on."

He shut the door for a moment and Toki heard his low voice grumbling. Then he heard a higher-pitched voice whispering angrily at him and ending in a loud crescendo of "FINE, then fuck you!" Seconds later, the brunette, only half dressed and pulling on her shoes, stormed out of his room and down the hallway. She looked lost, though still wanting to march out, and chose a hallway. A Klokateer would find her, hopefully, and escort her out.

Nathan re-emerged, looking slightly put-off and annoyed. He looked at Toki and gestured to his room.

"Well?"

Toki smiled, though feeling a bit afraid of the consequences of taking the place of a slut. Nathan would most likely be in a sour mood. But he _did_ let the younger man in; whether it was out of guilt, a sense of familiarity in his routine, or actual want, Toki had no idea. Whatever, it didn't matter: he was where he wanted to be.

To add to the singer's annoyance, Toki skipped right to the bed and sat down, as if he owned it. He set Deddy Bear down on his intended pillow and looked up at Nathan. His expression changed from grateful to sheepish as he saw the irritation set deeply in the singer's eyes.

"I's…I's real sorry, Nathans," he offered as the older man shut and locked his door.

"Hm. No you're not," he replied emptily, going to the light and flipping it off.

He just wanted to fucking sleep. If he couldn't get any action now, then he didn't want to be conscious. He laid down beside Toki, on his back, still wrapped in the sheet that he wasn't willing to share, not bothering to put his boxers back on. Toki laid down with a happy sigh, quiet until Nathan heard him gasp.

"Nathans, yous-…yous gots a-…!" He was pointing down to the singer's massive erection. It _was_ slightly throbbing. He'd been rather close to orgasm until he'd been interrupted. Hopefully, now, Toki could see the source of his aggravation.

"Yeah," he grumbled, "I fucking _know_, okay?"

Toki bit his lip. He thought Nathan was being awfully nonchalant about the whole thing…though he was probably too frustrated to care to hide it. He could've gone to the bathroom and fixed it, but he didn't for some reason.

"Nathans, I-…" he turned to him, a little too close for comfort, sounding sincere, "I really ams sorry. I didn'ts know dats…you woulds be…busy. Ands now you ams uncomforts-ables."

Nathan sighed. It had become increasingly difficult to be angry with Toki and even harder to _stay_ mad at him once he was. He shook his head quickly in a dismissive manner.

"Don't worry about it."

Nathan closed his eyes, wanting Toki to shut up so he could sleep it off and hopefully his body would cool down. He could tell that he was still slightly aroused, as the sheet that touched his dick ever so softly was causing him to squirm slightly, uncomfortably.

Toki absentmindedly licked his lips as he watched Nathan close his eyes. His own eyes had adjusted to the palely lit room and he could see the singer's outline perfectly now. Nathan's hard-on was more than hard to ignore and Toki shifted slightly in the bed so that he was just an inch closer to the other man.

"Uh, Toki," the guitarist hadn't realized that Nathan had been watching him out of the corner of his barely opened eyes, "why are you staring at my dick?"

It was weird, but then again..it _was_ Toki. That dude did the weirdest shit all the time. And it was true that Nathan's size was a bit more than impressive. Still, he felt slightly unsettled as an expression that he couldn't read crossed Toki's face.

Toki flushed at Nathan's words and broke his gaze to look up at the singer's face.

"I's, just…its seems like dats would…would hurts!"

"Uh," Nathan looked down at his erection and then back at Toki, "yeah, a little…I guess."

Skwisgaar had mentioned something once about a "friendly jack-off". He'd said that those kinds of things between two guys didn't really count. It was just a favor. And Toki felt pretty guilty for forcing Nathan away from sex by needing to sleep in his bed.

"You..wants me to…to takes cares of it?"

Nathan's eyes went wide; it would have been a comical look had it not been so frightening to see the man so out of character.

"What?! Toki, you mean like…?" He waited.

Toki nodded.

"Ja, I means…just a friendlys jacks off, like…betweens friends. Or whatever."

Toki's face seemed completely unapologetic. Did he have _any_ idea how completely and relentlessly _gay_ he sounded?

"Dude, that's…that's pretty gay."

Toki immediately took offense; that word was often used in Mordhaus as an insult.

"Nuh-uh! Justs friendlys, likes…likes Skwisgaar says!"

Nathan definitely didn't need Skwisgaar giving him, Toki, or anyone else advice on what was or wasn't acceptable when it came to sex. The Swede would probably accept a handjob from a goddamned monkey if it offered.

"Toki, Skwisgaar…doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about, he…he's just horny. All the time."

"Aren'ts you horny?"

Nathan was slightly taken aback by the question. Of _course_ he was still horny. He'd hoped to work it out in a naughty dream or something…forgetting that the younger man just happened to be sleeping beside him.

But still, Toki seemed so eager. Nathan _was_ incredibly ready; he could feel it throughout his entire body. And it _did_ feel as if his dick was on fire. Toki was probably an acceptable substitute and he certainly wasn't going to jack off. Maybe if he just closed his eyes and felt Toki's long hair on him it would seem like a girl and he could…

_What the fuck am I thinking?! _

He looked at Toki cautiously, as if he were waiting for a "just kidding!" or for Pickles to jump out of the closet with a video camera, ready to catch him agreeing to such a fucking gay action. But Toki just stared at him; Nathan figured he was incapable of being so mean and probably did want to do the singer a favor. After all, he'd been letting Toki sleep with him for the past week. Maybe he figured it was the least he could do.

And Nathan's erection didn't seem to be subsiding or relenting at all. It seemed that it wouldn't any time soon. Fuck it. A hand was a hand.

"Hmph. Fine," he grunted, and he tore the sheet off of him to reveal himself completely to the younger man. "If you really want to."

Toki widened his eyes slightly; he had been prepared to offer, but according to Nathan's reaction, he hadn't been preparing himself for the singer to agree to it.

"O-Okays…" he squeaked.

He shifted so that he was right up against Nathan's side. Nathan looked at him suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, I mean, only if you're fucking sure. You don't have to…" He started to feel himself get slightly self-conscious.

But just as he was beginning to pull back, Toki laid his hand on Nathan's stomach encouragingly.

"No, s'okays. I wants to. I'll dos it."

Nathan ignored that fact that Toki just openly admitted to wanting it and closed his eyes. Toki bit his lip and licked his palm, reaching his unsteady hand down to wrap around the singer's slightly wilting cock. He began to move his hand up and down and Nathan noticed how Toki's nervousness seemed to fade; in fact, he seemed almost…familiar with the act. Maybe he just masturbated a lot.

But he was _good_. Too good to keep the older man quiet and still. After a minute of Toki's stroking and squeezing, Nathan let out a solid moan, his eyes flittering open to stare at the ceiling in surprise. The guitarist's hand was calloused, but strong. It wasn't like having a woman's hand on his cock, it was…much more aggressive. And he liked it.

Nathan's cock was now rock hard and throbbing again and Toki licked his lips as he felt himself getting hard. He moved his body away from Nathan's side slightly, not wanting to freak him out with it. He reached down, brushing Nathan's balls, testing his limits.

"Fuck, Toki!"

Toki blushed fiercely. Not necessarily because of what he was doing, but because Nathan had spoken _his_ name. He wasn't denying who was touching him, or trying to imagine someone else, as Toki had thought that he would.

Nathan was way too involved to notice Toki's arousal. He felt it slightly futile to resist his band member's talent and he surrendered himself to the pleasure. The Norwegian worked his cock for a few minutes more before getting up on his knees and leaning over him slightly to add a second hand. He took the singers balls in his second hand gently, stroking softly while continuing his fervent onslaught on Nathan's cock.

"Fuck, Jesus, fucking Christ!"

Nathan's body curled and then shot backwards as he arched his back unexpectedly. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and Toki watched his changing expressions with enthusiasm. This was fucked up. Fucked up enough that he blocked his inner voice out his screaming mind. Yes, Toki was giving him a handjob…an amazing handjob. And Nathan was _enjoying_ it. WAY too much.

But he couldn't process everything at once and resorted to feeling the more instinctual sensations in place of it all. Toki's hair was spilling over Nathan's chest and stomach now, sliding slightly with the rhythm of his hands. Nathan reached up and slid his hand into Toki's soft strands, needing something lighter and feminine to calm his nerves. _This_ felt more familiar…it almost made it okay in a strange way.

Nathan's body wouldn't let him orgasm—not yet. It seemed to be riding out the intense physical bliss, never wanting to completely succumb. Toki's erection was become hard for him to ignore, but he forced himself to. And so he figured that he needed something more to distract his entire body, or at least his mind. He leaned forward, hesitantly, but decidedly. Nathan seemed pretty far gone, so maybe this would be okay, too.

He began to plant kisses all over the singer's neck. His lips were soft, timid…and Nathan definitely wasn't distracted enough to _not_ notice. His mind wanted to stop Toki; to pull him off and demand what the FUCK he thought he was doing. But his body…

His body wouldn't allow it. It felt too good; Toki's lips were so sweet against his sensitive skin and the attention to his cock was merciless. Finally, overwhelmed by all the sensations at all the different parts of his body, he let out a long groan as he came into Toki's hand gratefully. Toki even made a small noise into the singer's ear, his breath hot.

The younger man pulled away, wiping his hand meaningfully against the side of the bed. He lay back down beside Nathan, on his back, completely turned on. But his nervousness was returning, unaware of how the singer would react now that it was over.

Nathan lay there for more than a few minutes to regain his composure and complete consciousness.

"Fuck," he whispered again, though slightly tamer this time.

He braved a glance at Toki. There were so many things he wanted to ask: mainly, how the FUCK he got so good at pleasing another fucking guy. But he refrained and chose a non-committal.

"Uh, thanks."

Toki nodded, muttering a goodnight under his breath, only to turn over and whimper slightly at his own painful erection. Nathan decided to not try and decipher the meaning behind the noise and mimicked Toki's action, closing his eyes. He could fall asleep _much_ easier now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Charles was more than surprised to hear a knock at his door at 5:50 in the evening that Sunday. And even more surprised when Skwisgaar strolled in, his hands in his pockets, a smug smile on his face.

"I's early!" he announced unnecessarily. Charles couldn't deny that it pleased him.

"As I can see," he stated, filing away the last of the day's paperwork. "Are you ready for your lesson?"

Skwisgaar ran his fingers through his pale hair, nodding.

"Ja, I thinks so. I means…hads a dreams de udder nights where, ya knows, I crashed and kills myself, but…I thinks I'm ready."

Ofdensen raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Hm…well, let's hope it wasn't a premonition."

Skwisgaar furrowed his brow as Charles rose from his desk.

"A prems-no-nitions? Whats is dat?"

Charles smiled softly.

"It's when you have a dream that predicts the future. That shows you what will happen."

"Oh!" Skwisgaar nodded, agreeing. He repeated the word in Swedish, making the connection. "Ja, dats woulds be fuckeds up. I promise nots to kills us."

"Thank you."

Skwisgaar handed Charles the keys and they exited, making their way to the garage. Skwisgaar was particularly talkative on their ride to the same part of the island they'd trained before (though on a less perilous part of the road). Aside the occasional nod or affirmation, Charles said little. He liked hearing the things that would randomly come out of the Swede's mouth.

"You knows, I was thinkings…abouts de last things we talks about," the blonde admitted, looking over at Charles. He had his window down and the wind was whipping through his gorgeous hair wildly.

"I see," the manager replied, wondering how deeply Skwisgaar was capable of thinking about anything.

"Ja, and…you says you is datinks a guy. Is its workinks out?"

Charles immediate reaction would have been to tell the interrogator that it was none of their business and simply reassert himself as a very private individual. But Skwisgaar's attention was quite flattering, and even he couldn't deny that fact.

"Hm…yes, I suppose. It's…fine." What more could he say about he and Pickles' relationship?

"Fine? Dats…doesn'ts sounds very good," Skwisgaar added, raising his eyebrows.

"You know, I'd rather not discuss it, Skwisgaar," thinking it best to avoid the subject altogether.

The blonde smiled.

"I knows. Dats why I asks."

Charles glanced over at him momentarily, trying to understand his motive. He pulled up to their familiar cliff and parked the car.

"This time we're going to head north, so as to avoid all the twists and turns that you so gracefully tackled last time."

Skwisgaar got out of the car and Charles followed. He laughed, not offended.

"Ja, okays. We wills tries dat roads another day."

The manager found it slightly odd that the Swede constantly made references to later lessons, as if he expected them to become a recurring thing. He wasn't sure that it was a great idea to keep this up…but it was slightly enjoyable for the time being. He just didn't want it to become dangerous. The other night had been proof that Skwisgaar was capable of slipping in and out of the manager's mind at inopportune moments; particularly, when he had Pickles' arms around him in bed.

They switched places and Skwisgaar took the wheel. He was slightly more cautious this time, much to Ofdensen's approval. And perhaps it was just that: he wanted the praise from the older man, to be told that he was doing well. The Swede thrived on being told he was good at something; up until now he'd really only been excessively commented on two things: guitar and sex. Okay, and sometimes holding liquor.

They rode around a good half of the island and to both of their delights, Skwisgaar did not end up killing them. An hour later, he pulled the car into its original spot on the cliff. It had clouded over while they were out and it looked like rain. The ocean looked much more treacherous than it had the lesson before.

Skwisgaar stopped the engine, but didn't get out. Charles unbuckled his seat belt and looked over at the blonde.

"Well, good job, Skwisgaar. You're learning quickly. When restrained, I think you're a fair driver."

Skwisgaar smiled smugly.

"I's nots surprised. I's good at lots of things." It wasn't necessarily true, but it sounded like it could be. He nodded once to the older man.

"Clearly," Charless retorted, pulling out his phone to check any messages. There were none.

He sighed. Would it _kill_ Pickles to text or call during the day before he just came over at night for dinner and sex? It seemed that over the course of the past week the drummer had often arrived quite late, expecting one thing. And it wasn't a drawn out conversation about the intricacies of Eastern religion.

Skwisgaar recognized the change in the manager's mood and he nudged him softly.

"Hey, yous okays? Waitinks fors a phone calls?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, no, just…checking the time, actually. It's about seven thirty."

"Ohs…" Skwisgaar traced the steering wheel with his fingers and Ofdensen found himself mesmerized by their gracefulness.

"You knows," the Swede broke the older man's concentration, "yous says last times dats…you wants to asks me de questions."

"Hm?" He'd almost forgotten. But he didn't want to pass up the opportunity…though he could most likely sleuth, himself, and find anything out about Skwisgaar that he wanted. He did, however, want to hear it from the blonde's mouth, even though he already knew so much more about the guitarist than Skwisgaar would've liked. "Oh, yes."

He wasn't as direct as Skwisgaar had been, at first, but already had a lineup of questions waiting.

"Do you like what you do?"

Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow.

"Yous mean…bes in Dethklok? Ofs course. I couldn'ts…do anythings else. I'd suck."

Well there went his façade of a multi-talented wonder. Charles continued.

"Why do you want to suddenly get your license and drive so badly?"

Charles kept a steady gaze on the blonde's face. Skwisgaar smiled at first, and then a deep frown set itself on his face.

"I's feels trapped. Is like…you knows, I cans…goes outsides. But since wes gots in de accidents, I can'ts just…goes wherevers I wants. Nathans has to be drivinks me. Or Pickle."

The manager had to admit that he was slightly surprised. He had expected it to be about taking women out on dates.

"Trapped…I see. Well that's a good reason, then. Though I would advise against just…going out by yourself to a random bar, or store. At least take a Klokateer guard with you."

Skwisgaar chuckled, though he sounded slightly offended.

"Yous thinks dat I can'ts takes care ofs myself?"

Charles decided not to get into _that_ argument.

"No, not at all. But it _is_ dangerous out there. For you, anyway. You have many fans and they can get quite…maniacal. Um…crazy."

"Ah, ja, dat's true. I dos have lots of fans. Nots to mention dat somes of dem wanteds me dead…"

Charles noticed a slight shiver run down the Swede's spine. He really had been shaken by that incident, and he didn't even know the half of it.

"Yes, well, as I've assured you before: that won't happen again."

Skwisgaar nodded. "Okays, next questions."

Charles didn't hesitate.

"Why, exactly, did you want _me_ to give you driving lessons?"

Skwisgaar shifted slightly in his seat, an uncomfortable look on his face.

"I's tolds you before…you ams smart. Ands safe."

Charles frowned slightly, confused.

"You never told me I was…'safe'."

"Oh…I didn'ts? Wells, der you go." He crossed his arms, as if this admission irritated him. "I don'ts like…goings out widdouts you. Because you ams…you protects us."

_Ah_. So he was a bodyguard. Great. It was more than strange to have a very tall and capable guitarist tell him that he felt better simply because _he_ was with him. So that was it. Skwisgaar didn't want to leave the house unless it was with Charles.

"I see…" The manager looked out the window, out at the ocean, confused about how to feel about the fact.

"Buts yous has beens a greats teacher!" Skwisgaar bursted, hoping to redeem himself. "I's has…hads fun, ja?"

Tiny raindrops were skittering down the windows now. Charles turned to look at the Swede once more. He smiled slightly and nodded.

"Yes, I suppose it has been. I…I'm sorry, Skwisgaar, I had no idea that you were so wary about going out."

It _was_ his job, mostly, to make sure that the boys were safe. He couldn't help but feel slightly guilty at the fact that the blonde had been living in fear.

Skwisgaar shrugged, not wanting to seem weak.

"Whatevers. I don'ts cares anymore, is fine. Hey, cans I asks you somethinks now?"

Charles laughed slightly, nodding.

"Yes."

"Okays…whats is de name of de guys dats you ams seeing?"

_Oh shit._

"Vin..cent," he quickly replied. But damnit, he heard himself stall slightly.

Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow. This time he wasn't going to let anything slip by him.

"Vincent, ah?" How could he call Charles a liar? But he'd noticed how nervous the question had made him. "Okays…"

Both of them looked out the windshield as the rain began falling hard, drumming on the car in a soothing, rhythmic way. Charles may make Skwisgaar feel safe, but Skwisgaar seemed to only make the older man uneasy. In a lot of ways.

"Skwisgaar," Charles began.

"Hm?" He lay back in his seat, looking over at the manager.

"I can't imagine that I'm too interesting. Why, exactly, do you seem to enjoy these interrogative sessions?"

Skwisgaar figured that he got the gist of the question.

"Ja, um…I-…wells….." Finally he shrugged. He honestly didn't know. He hadn't expected, before their last discussion, to look forward to seeing Charles again. But he had been…all week, truth be told.

"I suppose dats I…um…enjoys talkinks wid you. You ams…so differents from everyones else at de house."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"I may be different, but I assure you I'm no more interesting," he repeated.

"I bets dat you are," Skwisgaar added, smiling softly. His gaze lingered on the manager's face for longer than he intended, until he finally looked at the dashboard.

"Hm," Charles sighed, letting his hands rest on his knees. "Well…for what it's worth, I enjoy it, too."

Skwisgaar smiled. He started to speak again, but the manager's phone rang: a very urgent, but standard ring tone that was probably labeled something like "Ringer #5" in the settings menu of his cell.

"Excuse me," Charles pulled out his phone and looked at the Caller ID. Pickles. Of course. He couldn't exactly step outside, so he turned down the volume on the speaker and answered it. He didn't want Skwisgaar to be able to hear Pickles' distinct voice.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Charlie. Whatcha up ta?"

"I'm in the middle of…a meeting, Pi-…what can I do for you?"

Skwisgaar slowly turned to look at Ofdensen, his right eyebrow raised.

_Shit,_ Charles thought, kicking himself mentally, _why now, Pickles?_

"Oh…well, um…I jes' thought maybe I could come see ya. But…will ya call me when ya get home?"

Charles sighed, feeling slightly guilty now.

"Yes, of course."

"Alright, cool. See ya later, then."

Charles closed his phone, putting it back into his pocket, trying to ignore Skwisgaar's accusing eyes.

"I…thoughts you saids his names was Vincent?" He knew something wasn't right with Charles' story.

Charles removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, a familiar pose that Skwisgaar saw often.

"Do we really have to discuss this now?"

"Ja, we do." The Swede decided to put his foot down. It wasn't fair for Charles to _lie_ during his questioning.

_Perhaps it's time._

"Can you…keep a secret, Skwisgaar?"

The blonde nodded eagerly.

"Pfft, ja. I's knows lots of things abouts everybodies." He waved his hand in a dismissive way. "Nots a problem."

"Alright," Charles began, feeling quite vulnerable, "I am…currently having an affair with Pickles, your drummer. We've been…seeing each other for quite some time."

If the older man hadn't been so nervous he might've laughed at Skwisgaar's shocked expression. His eyes were wide, his eyebrows impossibly high. His mouth gaped open and his arms went limp.

"_Whats?_ Pickle?! A-…And _you?!_" He looked at the steering wheel, as if it held the answers he wanted. "Pickle ams…he's…?"

"No, I don't think he's gay," Charles offered. He didn't want to go ruining the drummer's reputation. For all he knew, Pickles _was_ still attracted to the fairer sex.

"I didn'ts…know dats he…likes…" Skwisgaar finally looked back at Ofdensen, his face relaxing slightly, but the surprise not gone from his eyes. "Wow."

Charles watched him hesitantly, as if he might explode at any minute. After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, he decided to impress the seriousness of their privacy.

"Skwisgaar, surely you can understand why I…didn't divulge this information to you earlier. Or to anyone for that matter. _No one_ knows. I trust that you will…keep this quiet."

It wasn't so much a request as a command. Skwisgaar studied the older man's face briefly before nodding.

"Sure…ofs course. I won'ts says anythings."

Charles was uncertain—he regretted ever telling him in the first place.

"Perhaps…we should get back. It's getting late."

Skwisgaar nodded, completely silent. He remained so all the way home, only offering a soft "goodnight" as he left for his bedroom once at Mordhaus. That couldn't be good.

Charles felt quite defeated as he made his way home, unlocking his front door and carefully setting his briefcase on the very elegant IKEA table by the doorframe. If Skwisgaar decided that he and Pickles' relationship was unacceptable, in any way or for any reason, and he told the others…he could be out of the job.

_Why the hell did I even open my fucking mouth?_

Well, if he was going to hell for fucking the drummer, he might as well have him over and get it all out of his system…

But as Skwisgaar walked slowly back to his bedroom, his mind was swimming…and not with the thoughts that Charles feared. He had no intentions of telling anyone; he was usually pretty good about keeping things close to the vest that were important to other people. He knew much more about Toki than the other guys ever would; and had some pretty good shit on Nathan, too.

The fact that the manager was gay wasn't what bothered him; hell, he'd even been with men before. More than once, too. He'd been on top, however, and hadn't thought it to be too terribly different than sex with a woman. Of course he had never divulged this fact to the others.

What bothered him…surprisingly enough to himself…was the feeling that washed over him when Charles admitted that his lover was Pickles—Skwisgaar's friend. Or band mate, at the very least. He thought of the two of them together, of Charles being topped and completely undone by another person…

…and felt utterly jealous that it couldn't be him.

Skwisgaar wasn't used to not being wanted. It was true that after the manager had confessed to being gay, the Swede had imagined that the older man had a bit of a crush on him. The thought delighted him, though he hadn't admitted it to himself until just now. He wanted to be the object of _everyone's_ lust.

And so he went to bed, alone, frustrated and confused. Charles? Pickles? …in a _gay_ relationship? How did that work? His head ached with questions and he decided that in the morning, he would march down to Ofdensen's office and demand some answers.

Or just ask very nicely, in a charming way.


	4. Chapter 4

Nathan woke the next morning, slightly dazed, but rested. Toki still lay beside him, turned away on his side, sleeping peacefully. From this angle, he looked quite feminine, Nathan thought—all he could see was Toki's hair cascading down his back…until his eyes trailed lower and the Norwegian's perfectly toned, muscled body was hard to ignore.

What had happened last night? He remembered kicking out that chick…letting Toki in…laying down…Toki commenting on his boner…

_Oh. Yeah._

Fuck. _Now_ he remembered. He'd received the greatest hand job of his life. From Toki. From his fucking rhythm guitarist. He blinked hard, rubbing his face as he sat up. It wasn't necessarily that he wanted to block the memory from his mind…but he purposefully stopped thinking about the previous night's excursion for one reason: it was turning him on. He shifted uncomfortably.

Toki stirred, but only to nestle deeper into the cotton sheets, a small sigh escaping his lips. Nathan heard that sound from him often, a familiar sound of contentment. He wasn't sure, yet, how he felt about it.

The singer decided that a long, hot shower was in order; maybe it would wash off some of the more disturbing aspects about his recent confusion. He refused to think too hard on it, though, and in doing so went about his normal morning routine.

He showered, taking time to wash (and secretly condition) his long, ebony hair. He paid extra attention to his body as he soaped it up…realizing that he was getting hard.

_Shit_, he though, the scolding water hitting his back and he put his forehead to the shower wall, _STOP thinking about it…_

Was he dwelling on it because it was _Toki_, or simply because it'd given him such a memorable orgasm? Surely it had to be the latter. Deciding this, he also agreed to himself that it was okay to masturbate. As long as he didn't think about the Norwegian.

And so he reached down, his hand gliding over his slick and now rock hard cock. He couldn't hold back a small moan—a grateful, almost needy sound from the back of his throat—and he closed his eyes. But as he began to stroke and squeeze in his familiar fashion, he kept feeling Toki's kisses…all over his neck…and the younger man's hair, falling ever so softly on the singer's chest.

His body too wrapped up in the growing stimulation, his mind gave into the mental image that he so desperately wanted to avoid. It didn't take long, and no more than a minute later he was cumming into his hand while imagining the Norwegian on his knees.

Frustrated, but relaxed, he washed himself clean one final time and turned off the shower head. After stepping out and drying off, he returned to his room to find some pants. Nothing about Nathan was graceful and he had a hard time keeping quiet enough to keep Toki asleep. As he rummaged through a pile of clothes on the floor, Toki sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Mornings," he nearly whispered, yawning, casual as ever.

Nathan immediately stiffened. He yanked on the pants seconds before Toki's eyes were on him.

_That was close._

"Uh, hey…"

Toki's face fell slightly. They stared at each other, for much longer this time, an electricity of awkwardness between them. Even Toki couldn't think of anything cutesy or bubbly to say that would break the mood. Surprisingly enough, _he_ was the one who looked away first.

"Um…Nathans, you…you ams lookings at me reals funny…"

Nathan widened his eyes. He didn't want Toki to get the wrong idea. He _was_ slightly horrified about last night and it _wasn't_ okay.

"Yeah, well…" He moved to sit on the bed again, his back to Toki. "Last night was pretty…weird."

Toki bit his lip. His eyes ran over the curve of Nathan's spine, up to his damp hair. He could smell the shampoo from where he sat, still engulfed in blankets.

"It wasn'ts…_dats_ weird. You wanteds it and I's give it to yous, so…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Nathan turned to face him, his voice slightly higher in octave. "I didn't _want_ it. _YOU_ wanted it. It was _your_ fucking idea."

Toki looked offended, putting his hands on his hips in almost comical manner.

"Sos?! Yous says dats it was okays, so I just dos it! And yous likes it, yous was all moanings and sayings my name, ands-"

"FUCK, stop!" Nathan's voice was almost pleading, but still angry.

Toki's stomach flipped as he recounted last night's events. What he said was true—the singer _had_ said his name…moaned it, actually. It had been so…sexy.

"Well, I's nots sorry," Toki stated, looking huffily at the bed and crossing his arms.

"Yeah, cuz you're a fag."

Nathan let that slip. It was more a defense mechanism than anything else, but it seemed to push a button in Toki. The little Norwegian jumped out of bed and turned to Nathan, an infuriated fire in his eyes.

"Sos whats?! Ja, I AMS a fag! So der, nows you know!"

Nathan widened his eyes.

"_What?!_ You're GAY?!"

Toki calmed down a bit, feeling quite sheepish now. He twirled his hair and retreated slightly.

"…ja, I ams. I's always has been. Backs in Norways, whens I was…a teens-nager…I useds to…"

He cut off. Mainly because Nathan was just gawking at him as if he told him he was Hitler. No, wait, that probably would have been pretty metal—as if he were Elton John, rather.

Nathan's head was swimming. He'd let a fucking _fag_ touch his dick? And worse, that fucking fag was _Toki_? What the hell had he been thinking?! If word ever got out, his reputation would be history. Forget "friendly jack offs", as Toki had put it—he straight up seduced him! Because he was _gay_!

"Toki-..just….!"

Nathan could hardly form words. He stood up and began pacing.

"Nathans, I-…" his voice was soft, "I didn'ts…I didn'ts mean to-"

"JUST GET THE FUCK OUT! Get out and DON'T come back tonight!"

He rushed at the guitarist, who shrieked. Toki didn't want to _literally_ be thrown out, so he raced for the door, exiting in a flurry. Nathan could hear the younger man's sobs as he ran to his own room and slammed the door.

_Fuck._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Charles awoke the following morning in Pickles' arms, undressed underneath the sheets. The long night of passionate sex had been a sufficient distraction from his worries about keeping confidence in Skwisgaar. But as he woke, his mind was pulled into the present a knot began to form in his stomach.

It had been completely atypical of him to open himself enough to reveal the identity of his lover to the Swede; he felt entirely aggravated and humiliated by that fact. He had to be more guarded around him. There was something about the blonde's curiosity that was flattering enough to become dangerous to the manager. Pickles' reputation was at stake, and as was his job. He needed to be more careful.

Not quite feeling like himself, he decided to just get started on his day early. He reached over to the nightstand, turning off the alarm a good half hour before it was set to go off. He could feel the drummer's firm hold on him, his chest against Charles' back. He gingerly took Pickles' wrist, attempting to the remove the younger man's arm that was draped around him from behind.

"Nnng…" Pickles groaned and his eyes surprisingly fluttered open.

"I apologize," Charles whispered, "Go back to sleep."

But the redhead wasn't letting him go. He smiled and pulled the older man closer to his body, tightening his hold.

"Nooo…" he whined, kissing Charles' shoulder, "Don't go. Nat yet."

"I have to," he replied sternly, but couldn't hide a small smile.

The younger man's kisses became longer and moved to the manager's neck—one of his most sensitive spots.

"O-Oh…" It was hard to protest.

Pickles bit and licked the skin there, the arm he'd been using to hold Charles back now traveled south. It paused on his hip, rubbing it affectionately. The older man instinctively pushed himself back into his lover, his ass pressing into the drummer's cock. It responded enthusiastically.

"You're up awful early," Charles teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pickles chuckled at the double meaning.

"Yee-uh, well…I gatta give ya _some_ reason ta stay in bed."

He ran his hand lower, wrapping it firmly around the manager's cock. He squeezed softly and was rewarded with a small moan.

"Well," Charles' voice was getting breathy, "you win this round." And he surrendered, no longer struggling.

"Ha…'a course I have."

Charles grew harder in Pickles' hand, pushing back more, purposefully this time, to brush his ass against the drummer's growing erection. The younger man groaned, reaching down with his free hand to guide his cock in between the manager's cheeks; he wasn't inside of him, but he was trying to create more friction. He thrust slowly, his dick brushing against Charles' opening, but passing it.

"Mmm…yee-uh, that feels _good_, baby…"

He began to stroke the older man faster, trying to keep his concentration. Pickles had always been great at multi-tasking, a helpful trait acquired from years behind a drum set. It was something that Charles definitely appreciated.

The manager wasn't sure, however, how he felt about the pet name "baby". He didn't necessarily think that it fit him, and all too often the name seemed to further consecrate Charles' submissive role in the relationship—a role he'd never planned on taking. But Pickles was very particularly against the idea of having someone inside of him. He'd once explained it to be "too deep", much to Charles' irritation. So the manager had stopped trying for that position months ago.

Charles realized that he was thinking too hard, and about too many things at once. He forced his mind to go blank as he surrendered his body, momentarily, to Pickles. After a few more minutes of good, hard, stroking, he came into the drummer's hand with a groan and Pickles soon followed.

"Now…_that's_…how ya wake a guy up," Pickles whispered in the manager's ear, smiling.

Charles closed his eyes momentarily, deciding to take advantage of the drummer's currently relaxed state. _This_ was something he didn't want to give up…

"Pickles…maybe we could have dinner tonight. At Scarpetta, that gorgeous French restaurant?"

The drummer frowned, but restrained from becoming defensive because of the pleading edge in the older man's voice. It hurt him every time to say no, but…there was just no way. He _couldn't_.

"Charles…"

"I know, I know…" the manager sighed, "Forgive me. Again."

Pickles bit his lip, trying to remedy the situation.

"What if we all went? It'd be fun! I'll sit by ya. Touch yer leg under the table, all naughty 'n shit."

He showered Charles' back with kisses, smiling.

"That…wasn't exactly the romantic evening I had in mind."

"I know, but…I _do_ wanna take ya there. Please? It'll jes' make things easier if it's a group."

"…all right. I'll make reservations for seven-thirty, so tell the others."

Charles really regretted leaving the drummer in his bed, naked and still wanting; but he did have to get to work. So with a tonguey goodbye and a few crude jokes, Pickles let the older man escape to his office.

Around noon, just as the manager was considering a break for lunch, there was an unexpected knock at his office door.

"Come in," he called, his brow furrowed.

He didn't know whether to feel relieved, or worried, when Skwisgaar waltzed in, his usual haughty air about him. He shut the door behind him and nodded to Charles. He seemed calm enough…

"Hej, Ofdensens."

"Hello, Skwisgaar," Charles replied, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Please, have a seat."

Skwisgaar strode over to the familiar chair in front of the manager's desk and plopped down.

"Is there…something I can do for you?"

Skwisgaar's face contorted into an odd expression—it seemed to be a mix of confusion, frustration and wonder.

"Um…ja, sure. Sure, ders is somethinks yous can do fors me."

"And what is that?" He tried to stay stoic, folding his hands on the desktop in front of him, leaning forward slightly.

Skwisgaar stretched back, crossing his arms, his long legs splayed out before him.

"Yous can tells me whats you likes abouts Pickle."

He couldn't deny that he'd become quite obsessed with the fact that the two men were fucking. He hadn't even thought of the manager as a sexual being…until late. It was only now that he really took in the older man's features, appreciating them in a new way.

Charles_ was_ handsome. He just seemed to work so hard at being stuffy that it often went unnoticed. His face had the beginnings of frown and stress lines, but it was nice…sexy, even. His eyes were piercing—they definitely were his most attractive quality. Apart from the very nicely toned body that the Swede couldn't even see.

"Skwisgaar, I really don't wish to discuss th-"

The blonde just waved his had dismissively, cutting him off.

"Ja, ja, I knows…" he smiled devilishly, "buts you shoulds stills tells me."

Charles shook his head. He had to draw the line somewhere.

"I'm not quite sure why you even care, but we _aren't_ discussing this."

Skwisgaar frowned. His fascination with the subject wasn't going to go away if he couldn't at least _talk_ about it.

"Comes on, dis isn'ts fair—you knows everythinks abouts me, buts I can'ts know yous?"

He looked very much like a pouting child. Charles just couldn't understand this sudden interest that Skwisgaar had, and he didn't feel it particularly appropriate to encourage it.

"I've told you before, there's nothing of consequence to know. And I don't know _everything_ about you."

Skwisgaar had no idea what _that_ meant, but he figured that Charles was just telling him he was boring again to get him off his back.

"Pfft, whatsever. I's tells you somethinks abouts me, ah? Den yous has to tells me somethinks abouts you. Hmm…let's see…" he looked up at the ceiling, thinking.

"Skwisgaar, this is hardly necessary," he sighed, "…but very well."

"Goods! Is a deal! Ah!" He pointed at himself to emphasize his point. "_I've_ beens wid a guys before, too!" He seemed particularly proud of this fact.

Charles raised an eyebrow. He couldn't lie—this was interesting news.

"I see."

"Ja. So nows you tells me…what I wants to knows."

"Hm," the manager leaned back, crossing his arms in an equally defensive position, "You simply said I'd have to tell you something about myself. You didn't say specifically what."

Skwisgaar's mouth fell open, not recognizing that loophole in his little deal.

"Nots fairs!"

"I don't think this entire operation is particularly 'fair', but if you'd like, I'll share something about myself."

Skwisgaar sulked, knowing it wouldn't be what he wanted. Charles continued, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"When I was four, I had a pet cat named Tuggle."

Skwisgaar frowned, narrowing his eyes. It suddenly became a challenge.

"I once dranks kitchens cleaner to tries and kill myself."

He thought that his strategy of telling more intimate things about himself would make the manager do the same. He was wrong.

"I don't like tofu."

"I once caughts Nathans looksings ats gay porns on de computers."

"I've never been to New Mexico."

"I once piss myselfs ats a Guns 'N Roses concerts."

"I listen to jazz."

This was getting frustrating. Skwisgaar didn't realize quite yet that his fists were clenched and with each confession he was closer to jumping out of his seat to scream at Charles.

"I's jacks off last nights thinkinks abouts fuckinks you!"

Charles widened his eyes slightly. Skwisgaar unclenched his hands and his face flushed. Swallowing hard, the manager finally gave in.

"I…Pickles and I have a lot in common. That's what I see in him."

He knew that it was vague; but for once, he hadn't intended it to be. He honestly just couldn't think of a good answer that wasn't something sexual…and he certainly wasn't bringing that up. Especially now.

Wanting to avoid any reiteration of his admission, Skwisgaar kept on with that subject.

"Whats do yous haves in common?"

He sat back now, relaxing more, but watching the manager closely.

"Well…we both like many different kinds of…movies. And we used to discuss business and partial politics…"

"Used tos?"

Charles frowned, looking now at his desk. _Yeah…we don't talk much anymore. _

"…Ofdensens?" Skwisgaar raised his eyebrows.

"I apologize," Charles said, looking back up at the blonde. "As many relationships have a tendency to do, it's become…comfortable."

He couldn't really complain; at least the sex was still great. At least they were still _having _sex after al this time. Even if it _was_ emotionally draining to have to constantly deny any involvement with the drummer. Even if he _did_ have to sacrifice things like dates to fancy restaurants, or secret hand jobs in a movie theatre. Big deal.

"But it's fine," he added, "Things are great."

Skwisgaar was silent as he traced his lips, something that Charles really wished he wouldn't do…it was such a sexual thing. At least to him. Finally, the Swede looked up and his voice was truly inquisitive.

"Whats…mades you choose Pickle? Outs of everyone?"

_Choose_ Pickles? Originally, Pickles had pursued him, not the other way around. He probably never would have instigated it had Pickles not been so damn persistent. But was Skwisgaar asking why he'd chosen Pickles…over _him_?

Charles wasn't sure how to answer the blonde. But he was great at answering a question with another question, quite politically.

"What makes you think there had been a choice?"

Skwisgaar shook his head. He wasn't sure, he just knew that the fact that he'd never been approached made him uncomfortable…_everyone_ approached him. _Everyone_ wanted to fuck him…well, as far as he was concerned. Charles was becoming much like an untouchable porcelain doll to Skwisgaar…and it was hell.

"Skwisgaar, please, don't dwell on this. Everything is normal as it was before."

The Swede looked quite defiant.

"Everythinks is nots normal! I don'ts…I don'ts gets it."

Charles furrowed his brow.

"What, exactly, don't you get?"

"Why yous don'ts wants to fucks me!"

He looked up at Ofdensen as if this should've been obvious. Charles was immediately offended. So _that's_ what this was about.

"Skwisgaar," his voice was low and stern, "not _everyone_ wants to have sex with you."

"Pfft," the blonde's arrogance was becoming hard to stomach, "Whatsever. I promises dats by de ends of the week…you'll wants to fucks me."

Charles clenched his jaw.

"Don't hold your breath," he muttered. "Skwisgaar, you are acting like a spoiled child. You _don't _want me. You just want what you can't have. Besides, I'm not some slut from a bar…and I have a lover."

Why did Skwisgaar's gut seem to twitch when the manager said that? It was almost like a blow below the belt in some respects. He looked down like a beaten child and nodded softly. He was silent.

Why the hell did Charles suddenly feel guilty? He hadn't done anything wrong; it was Skwisgaar who should be apologizing! His mind drifted to what the Swede had admitted minutes ago…that he'd masturbated while thinking of the manager…

"Skwisgaar," he sighed, removing his glasses and giving the blonde a meaningful look, "I understand your nature. Honestly, I do. And if you would like to be friends…get to know each other…then I would agree to that."

The Swede looked up. A friend? He hadn't considered that…it sounded…gay. Nice, but gay. Nonetheless, he nodded slowly.

"Ja…I woulds likes dat."

Charles actually smiled.

"Me, too."

Skwisgaar got up carefully and headed for the door. He turned around once, grabbing the handle of the door.

"Wes…all goinks outs to eat tonights, ja?"

"Yes," Charles nodded, "I believe we are."

"Goods. Sees you den."

After the sound of the door shutting, Charles sank into his seat a bit. What a mess.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"TOKI! Toki, comes OUTS of der. You has to gets ready, you stupids dildo!"

There was a loud "thunk!" from the inside of the Norwegian's room as yet another shoe was thrown at the door. Skwisgaar sighed, leaning against it.

Nathan opened the door to his own room from inside, just down the hallway.

"What the _fuck_ is going on out here?"

The singer had holed up in his room all day. Skwisgaar turned to look at him, shrugging, annoyed.

"I don'ts know! Buts he just yells ats me, tells me to kills myself and won'ts comes out!" He turned to the door to yell at Toki. "CUZ HE'S BEINGS A LADY!"

There was a muted "Yous a lady!" from Toki, followed by a sob. It sounded like his face was shoved into a pillow.

Nathan knew exactly what this was about. And what was worse…was that he felt guilty. _Again_.

"Just…go, Skwisgaar, get ready for dinner. I'll try to fucking talk to him."

"Ja, okays…just…bes carefuls. Hopes he doesn'ts kills you," he added sarcastically, turning the corner and disappearing down his own corridor.

Nathan hit Toki's door, just one harsh knock.

"Toki, let me in." His voice was stern.

There was silence for about thirty seconds and then some shuffling…and then Toki unlocked and opened the door. He looked a mess—his hair ruffled, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and his bottom lip trembling.

"Whats do _yous_ wants?" His voice was almost a whimper.

Nathan figured he wouldn't have opened the door if he hadn't wanted the singer in, so he just pushed past Toki and shut the door behind him. He looked down at the younger man, his expression grave.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?"

He was suddenly aware of the fact that Toki didn't have a shirt on. He wasn't sure why that just now jumped out at him, but it did. He took a step back and looked back at Toki's eyes.

It was hard, though…because there was so much pain there. Toki looked _hurt_.

"Just leaves mes alone, you stupids…" the rest was lost as he tried to pass by Nathan angrily.

But Nathan reached out and grabbed the guitarist by the bicep, pulling him back. Toki's eyes widened, surprised by the sudden physical contact. The Norwegian was definitely strong, but no one could say yet who would win in a fight between Nathan and Toki; they'd never tried. And neither was sure he wanted to.

Nevertheless, Toki didn't pull away. The singer's grip wasn't necessarily hurtful, or harsh—it was just meant to hold him in place, and that was okay for the time being.

"Just _tell_ me what's wrong," Nathan demanded.

"…yous…yous calls mes a fags and den yells ats me to gets out and nots comes back dis mornings…"

His bottom lip began to quiver again.

"Jesus, Toki, y-…you said you _were_ a fag. What was I supposed to do?" His voice was softer now.

"Nots yells ats me! Yous were supposeds to treats me like Toki! I's not differents, been likes dis for a longs time."

It was true that the entire band, at one point or another, had questioned Toki's sexuality; mainly because they never saw him with women. Unbeknownst to Nathan, Skwisgaar had known for years about Toki's sexual preference. But it had never seemed so big a deal until now. Until Nathan had his cock touched by the Norwegian.

"I know that…you're still you, I just…" How could he put it into words without sounding like a fucking dope? "You just…didn't tell me before you…"

"Dids it matters?" Toki demanded, looking quite defiant now, "You likeds it."

Nathan gritted his teeth, but realized it was useless to deny it. He _had_ liked it. He knew it and Toki knew it. Hell, he even jacked off to it in the shower this morning.

"I _know_…" he said, through clenched teeth.

Toki widened his eyes. He definitely hadn't expected Nathan to admit it.

"I know I liked it," the singer went on, "but that doesn't make me _gay_. Because I'm not, okay?"

Toki just nodded. Nathan let go of the younger man's arm and took a deep breath.

"Okay…now just…get ready, alright? We need to leave soon…"

He walked to the door, ready to leave; but Toki's soft voice stopped him.

"…Nathans?"

He turned. "Yeah?"

"…I likeds it, too."

Nathan swallowed hard. What the hell was he supposed to do with _that_? At a complete loss of words, he simply nodded and continued out the door.

"Wowee…" Toki whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

Taking Dethklok to a fancy restaurant was like taking a time bomb to the Grand Canyon; all Ofdensen had to do was count the seconds and wait for the destruction to begin. In a matter of hours, empty wine bottles would most likely scatter the table and the waiting staff would be horribly offended for one reason or a hundred. But so far, they seemed tame enough and it was really all Charles could ask for.

Toki sat next to Nathan and Murderface, but his chair moved closer to the singer's. Nathan either didn't mind or didn't notice, as when he did brave a glance at Toki it was usually when no one was looking. Charles was awkwardly placed in between Pickles and Skwisgaar; he'd sat by his lover, of course, but the Swede had insisted he be on the other side, bugging the manager about the wine menu to draw attention to himself. He didn't necessarily seem rabidly jealous, but the blonde had become accustomed to all people—outside of the band—at all times giving him what he wanted. The fact that Charles kept leaning over to speak to the drummer frustrated him.

Murderface crossed his arms and looked around.

"What a bunch of schtuffy weirdosch in here," he commented, a grimace on his face.

"Yeah," Nathan agreed, "totally, yeah…stuffy weirdos."

"Yeah, stuffys, yeah," Toki nodded.

Pickles rolled his eyes, not wanting Charles to get offended.

"Hey, it's nice, ya know? Quit yet bitchin', this place has _greet_ food."

"Ja, its does," Skwisgaar agreed, also speaking up for Charles, who simply sighed. "Sos…you threes justs shuts up."

Pickles raised an eyebrow at the Swede; he'd been acting so goddamn weird the past few days.

"Hey, don't tell usch to schut up!"

"Yeah!" Toki echoed.

"Toki, _schut _up," William whispered and Toki hit him in the arm. "Ow!"

_Oh great_, Charles thought, _it has begun. So much for a nice dinner._

But Murderface seemed to let it go quickly enough and their appetizers had finally arrived. Nathan spent much of the meal asking Charles about what this, or that was, either on the menu or on his plate; everything was in French. He'd had to order for them, but was slightly delighted when Skwisgaar ordered for himself—his French was wonderful.

"Skwisgaar, I…didn't know you spoke French," Charles leaned over to him, speaking softly, impressed. Everyone else was distracted.

Except Pickles, who watched the two with interest.

Skwisgaar happily leaned in, nodding.

"Ja, I learns it in schools, den goes der so many times. I knows lots of languages."

Charles didn't know if he was just bragging or if it was true, but he decided that it would be the topic of their next discussion, if this "friend" thing really was going to work.

Toki was watching all the commotion, but rarely participating other than the occasional verbal affirmation. About halfway through the meal, he looked over at Nathan purposefully. While Murderface was in a heated argument with Pickles about a band, Nathan looked back.

A little surprised by his sudden attention, Toki swallowed hard. But he stared into Nathan's eyes, with his own large, light blue ones, and his lips parted slightly. Nathan didn't understand why he couldn't look away, but there was something about the way that the younger man was looking at him…he couldn't decide whether it was lust, or adoration, or maybe a mix of the two. Or perhaps some emotion that Nathan couldn't comprehend, or read.

"Nathans?"

Nathan finally ripped his eyes off of Toki to turn and see that the whole table was looking at them. Skwisgaar had an eyebrow raised, having been saying his name for some time now. Toki blushed deeply, damning them slightly, and hid his face in his hair.

"What?"

Pickles chuckled.

As the night continued, it seemed that Murderface and Pickles were the only two that were getting quite plastered. Charles, though he'd feared this would happen, had higher hopes and felt disappointed; he'd at _least_ wanted the drummer to be able to perform later, in a more intimate setting. So much for that.

Skwisgaar whispered to the manager.

"Oh mans, dese guys is DRUNKS!"

Charles nodded, not taking his eyes off Pickles, who was now talking to the waitress about how he might go about getting some blow around here. Before the night went from bad to worse, the manager decided it was time to pay the bill.

Nathan helped Murderface out, while Pickles leaned on Skwisgaar—much to his dismay. He didn't want to be somebody's escort, especially if _he _was the sober one. He wore a deep frown and Pickles yapped away all the way to the car. Finally, he turned to Skwisgaar and whispered, slurring heavily.

"Lissten, awright? LIsssten, jess'…fuckin…tell Charless dat I love 'im, mmkay? And…Ah'm sssorry."

He should've been grateful that this came out to the one member who knew about their affair, instead of someone like Murderface. Skwisgaar sighed.

"Ja, ja, just…gets ins de car."

Back at Mordhaus, Skwisgaar helped bring the drunken ones in and then followed Charles down the hallway, where he was headed to his attached apartment.

"Sos, um…wheres you goinks now?"

He had his hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor. Charles looked at him carefully; he certainly _was_ in the mood for company…but not necessarily the platonic kind. Still, he figured it'd be best not to be alone.

"Home. Would you like to come? I could maybe find us a nice dessert wine."

Skwisgaar's smile lit up the hallway.

"Ja, let's dos dat."

Nathan and Toki were the only ones left in the living room, sitting on the couch. It seemed that the other were either gone, or going somewhere else—the singer didn't think too hard on Skwisgaar's absence.

The two men sat on opposite sides of the couch, awkwardly. It was Toki who broke the silence.

"Nathans, if yous…don'ts wants me around no more, I's won'ts…bodders you."

The singer looked over at Toki, to realize that the younger man was already looking back at him. He looked sad and slightly lost—much the way he did when they first returned from Norway, though not quite as depressed.

"Toki," Nathan began, sighing slightly, giving in, "No, I…don't want you to go away."

And it was true. Toki, as a companion, while a little confusing at times, was kind of reassuring. It may not have been very metal, but Nathan quite liked having a little pal to follow him around and hang on his every word and move.

"Goods." Toki beamed. How could he just switch it on like that, so easily? His fragile emotional state seemed to rely on Nathan's acceptance.

"But listen," Nathan warned, his voice still soft, "no more gay shit, okay? I mean…ya know…with me."

Toki nodded and put up his hand, as if to swear.

"I promises nots to."

Nathan nodded once.

"Let's go to bed."

Toki grinned, bouncing up, following Nathan back to his room. The singer didn't protest and the Norwegian was all too delighted that he'd meant to take the younger man with him. In a few minutes, the door was shut (and securely locked) and they lay in Nathan's bed warmly.

"Nathans?"

"Hm?" The singer didn't necessarily feel like having a conversation, but figured he'd humor Toki.

"Whats was…so bads abouts what we dids?" He looked over at him, both men lying on their backs, six inches apart.

Nathan closed his eyes momentarily, then blinked up at the ceiling. Why the fuck did they have to go through this again?

"_Because_, Toki, it was _gay_."

"Ja, buts…whys dats so bad?"

Toki sounded honestly curious. With his parents' screwed up and holistic morality, he'd never thought to bring it up to them. But he'd never felt _wrong_, just different. He knew that the other guys used the words "gay" and "fag" as bad terms, but when it came down to it…it was fine.

"Well…uhh…" Nathan searched hard in his brain, wanting to come out of this discussion on top, "because it's…you know…you just need to…hm. Sleeping with women is metal, that's all."

"Sleepins wid boys isn'ts metal?"

"No." _That_ he was sure of. "Definitely not."

"Oh, wowee. I guess I's nots as metal as yous are."

Nathan looked over at him to see if he was being sarcastic; but Toki had quite the innocent look on his face. He didn't want to make Toki feel bad about being gay, he just wanted to stress that he should keep it to himself.

"You knows," Toki went on, his voice quiet, "Skwisgaar seems to thinks is okays."

Nathan widened his eyes.

"_Skwisgaar_ knows?!"

"Ja, I tells him." He said this quite matter-of-factly.

Jesus. Skwisgaar _also_ told Toki that "friendly jack-offs" were acceptable. No wonder.

"Well…what did he say?"

He was honestly curious. Maybe it might be easier for him to feel better about it if his lead guitarist thought it was fine.

"Wells, ja, he says…dats he thinks secks-you-alities is confusinks. And dats you shoulds do whats make you happy. Because everythings feels good."

Nathan pretty much knew that Skwisgaar was at _least _bisexual—or that he preferred both men and women in his bed sometimes. But Skwisgaar was ALWAYS on top, so it seemed less offensive. Toki seemed…more like a bottom.

"Skwisgaar…is screwed up sexually," Nathan muttered, "he'd do anything, Toki."

"Buts-!" Toki didn't want that to ruin his defense. "He didn'ts says was nots metal!"

Nathan sighed and shook his head, truly frustrated now.

"I don't fucking know, Toki, I'm not an expert at gay…ness."

Toki fell silent and Nathan followed. It was just too fucking much; he didn't want to talk anymore. The Norwegian shifted a few times, trying to get comfortable. He whimpered slightly.

"What's wrong now?!"

"I can'ts gets comferts-tables!"

"Well, do it and then stay still!"

Fine. If Nathan wanted him to be still and comfortable, he would be. He moved quite quickly, but before the singer could pull away, Toki'd wrapped his arms around the man's torso and laid his head on his chest.

"…fine. Go to sleep."

Toki smiled and sighed, that tiny little noise escaping again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Charles led Skwisgaar back to his very elegantly furnished apartment—it was more like an expensive New York loft, which the Swede thought suited the manager.

"Wow, dis is nice," the blonde commented as they walked in and Charles set down his keys.

"Yes, thank you."

He moved to shut and lock the door as Skwisgaar strolled to the large balcony door, looking out through the glass. A thought suddenly crossed his mind. This should've been a normal night—it should've ended with the Swede getting laid, bringing a random waitress from the restaurant back to his room.

But instead he was here—with his manager. It was almost funny.

"Hey, cans we turns on somes music? I wants to know whats yous got in here…"

He moved to the expensive stereo by the flat screen TV in the corner of the room. Charles simply laughed, pulling out a bottle of wine from the cupboard in the kitchen.

"Fine," he called to the younger man, "but you won't like what's in there."

Skwisgaar fiddled with the remote, getting the stereo to play Disc 1. After a few seconds, the jazzy, smooth sound of Michael Bublè filled the room, singing one of Sinatra's oldies.

Charles returned to the room, two glasses of a rich, red wine in his hands. He smiled.

"I told you."

Skwisgaar kind of laughed, turning the volume down slightly. He took a glass and took a seat on the manager's leather couch.

"It suits yous," Skwisgaar admitted, "I didn'ts expects death metals."

"No, no," Charles laughed, sitting on the opposite side of the couch, "I get enough of that at work."

Skwisgaar took a sip of his wine and nodded.

"Oo, dis is goods."

"Skwisgaar…" Charles began, running his finger around the rim of his glass, not drinking yet.

"Ja?" He looked up.

"Thank you…for coming here. I know that you probably have much better things you could be doing."

The Swede looked honestly surprised. Those had been his thoughts not moments ago. But he was still here, wasn't he?

"Nots a problems," he said earnestly, nodding.

"Now, you said you can…speak many different languages?"

"Oh, ja!"

Skwisgaar entertained the manager for the next hour, demonstrating his skills as a polyglot. Charles was delighted that he hadn't made it up and laughed as the Swede would say whatever the manager wanted in whatever language he chose. In reality, Skwisgaar was only truly fluent in about three or four, but dabbled in a number of them.

"I likes it whens you laugh," Skwisgaar admitted, after he'd displayed his German skills.

Charles' face relaxed—he had been laughing quite hard, the wine allowing him to let go slightly. Enough at least to let the slightly sexual way Skwisgaar had said that slip by, unnoticed.

"Thank you."

"You don'ts smiles enough. Yous are always frownink." It was true. And the manager was damn _sexy_ when he laughed like that, his eyes getting all narrow, letting his head fall back slightly...

Charles sighed, pouring himself another glass, figuring what the hell.

"Well, I don't think, to be fair, that I'm provided with many opportunities."

Skwisgaar tilted his head slightly, a small smile on his lips.

"Pickles doesn'ts makes you smile?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't see him much during the day. Just at night, when-…"

He stopped, covering his mouth slightly, almost delicately, with his fingers. He'd never looked so gay and Skwisgaar burst into laughter.

"You twos just fucks! Is nots a relations-kips!"

"It is, too!"

Charles felt quite offended, but too buzzed to be truly angry.

"Well…I's will tries to makes you smiles more, ah? I's promise."

Charles shifted a bit, feeling quite uncomfortable with how Skwisgaar was looking at him.

"It's getting late," was he all he could think to say.

"Ja." He looked at the clock, then back at the manager. "I's will lets you gets tos bed if you wants…"

Charles shook his head, but didn't mean to seem so eager. Skwisgaar smiled.

"Okays, I stays den. But onlys if yous promise dats we go drives again soon."

Charles nodded.

"Yes, you…need _quite_ a few more lessons before you take your test."

"Heys!"

It was Charles' turn to laugh at the Swede's reaction.

After another hour and another wine bottle drained, Charles was feeling impossibly drunk. How had he let this happen? Skwisgaar held his liquor—especially something like wine—much better and hardly seemed tipsy.

But the Swede _was_ feeling it: enough to feel his judgment being affected. Charles stood up, but almost fell over, catching himself on the back of the couch.

"…have to…go to bed…" he managed to whisper, the room spinning.

Skwisgaar chuckled.

"Comes on, I's helps you."

He led Charles to his bedroom after finally finding it down the hallway. He pulled the older man into the dark room and removed his jacket, tossing it on the floor.

"Hey…s'my good jacket…" Charles stammered, but didn't move to pick it up.

"Yous needs to loosens up. I buys you a news jacket. Yous are drunks, who cares?"

He began to unbutton the older man's shirt, but Charles knocked his hands away lazily.

"Can't…no, s-stop…"

"Pfft, I's nots goings to rapes you."

Skwisgaar removed the man's shirt without resistance this time, revealing a white undershirt. The Swede could see the other man's nicely toned body through his tight shirt and indulged a moment, running his hand up Charles' stomach and chest.

"Mmm…"

The blonde smiled; he couldn't believe he was just able to coax a slight moan out of the manager. He reached down, still watching Charles' face as he undid his belt.

"S-Skwisgaar…."

He wasn't sure why Charles had said his name. It was barely a whisper and maybe didn't mean anything; but it was hard not to let it get to him. He wished so badly, at that moment, that the manager could moan his name again…over and over…

"Yes?" Skwisgaar asked, wanting to get the manager talking, to see what he'd say.

"Don't…take advantage…Pickless, he…"

The Swede snorted.

"Pickles isn'ts here. I don't thinks he'd likes me beings here at alls, anyways."

"Probly right," Charles muttered, letting the Swede remove his pants, now just in his underwear and undershirt.

Skwisgaar moved him towards the bed and let him lie down. He covered him up and then lay beside him, feeling too tired and buzzed to try and find his way back to his own room. He wasn't even sure if he could without getting lost.

"Skwisgaar?"

"…ja?"

Charles wanted to tell him to stay. He wanted to ask him not to leave. But he couldn't even force his mind to make him speak and so he chose the next best thing; he turned over, lying on the Swede's long and slender chest. Skwisgaar sighed and wrapped his arm securely around the manager.

"I's nots goinks anywhere."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Waking up with Toki in his arms wasn't something Nathan planned to do each morning; but despite his plans, it kept happening. And during the day, the Norwegian would usually be within a few feet of the singer, at least. They just always seemed to be together.

A week after their dinner at Scarpetta, they were all sitting in the hot tub, the evening news on the TV. Toki was watching Nathan play Half-Life on his laptop, randomly commenting. Pickles was indulging in a Margarita while Murderface snored loudly beside him, his arms crossed and head back against the rim of the tub.

Skwisgaar was playing his guitar idly, his eyes fixated on the TV in a daze.

"Oo, is da G-mans!" Toki exclaimed, watching the computer screen. "Don'ts shoots dats guy, Nathans, he-…LOOKS OUT! Oh, wowee, I thoughts you was dead!"

"I know, look at that- BAM! I killed that mother fucker," Nathan laughed, almost as into the game as his seemingly new best friend was.

Pickles raised his eyebrow and nudged Skwisgaar, who jerked to life.

"Ah, ja?" The Swede inquired.

The drummer motioned to Nathan and Toki who, now being so encapsulated in the game, were centimeters apart, an equal look of interest in their faces as they both stared at the laptop. Toki had his hand resting lightly on Nathan's arm. And the singer _wasn't_ pushing him away, or telling him to fuck off…THIS was interesting…

"Hey Nathans and Tokis, why don'ts you justs…gets a room, ah?" The blonde snickered with Pickles.

"Yee-uh, why dontcha jes' go make out'r somethin'."

Skwisgaar burst into laughter.

Toki's face went bright red and it was as if he just noticed where his hand was placed—because he yanked it away so quickly that he hit himself in the chest with it. Nathan looked up, his teeth clenched. He set his laptop on the rim of the hot tub behind him and scowled at the two accusers.

"You fucking dicks got somethin' to say?"

Neither Pickles nor Skwisgaar wanted the gigantic singer coming after them, but Pickles did feel it necessary to bring up the subject…

"You two have been spendin' a LAT of time together, dat's all…" He sipped his drink, shrugging.

Skwisgaar decided to jump on that train.

"Ja, is like…you twos are de, uh…dats…"He furrowed his brow, trying to think of the right word. "You know, wheres de…one guy is attached to his brothers, or whatsever…"

"Siamese twins?" Pickles offered and Skwisgaar perked up.

"Ja! Dats! Whats de hell, Nathans?"

He was specifically speaking to the singer, because as far as he was concerned, Toki was strange enough to get away with _any _behavior. Especially the type that proved his gayness…and particularly, his newfound fondness for Nathan. Skwisgaar did give Toki a meaningful look, which the younger man avoided.

"We're just…hanging out, so what?" Nathan was trying to relax his body.

"Yee-uh, but…_why_?" Pickles raised his eyebrows. "Toki's been trailin' ya like a dag."

"Ja, likes a littles dog." The lead guitarist nodded.

"I's nots a dog!" Toki yelled and Murderface woke with a start.

"What are you guysch yelling about, I'm tryin' to SCHLEEP over here!"

Toki looked at him, clueing him in…damning he and Nathan to Dethklok _hell_, as he pointed a reproving finger at Pickles and Skwisgaar.

"Dese guys thinks that justs because Nathans and I sleeps togedders dats we ams beins weird and spendins too much times togedder!"

Everyone fell silent. Even Murderface had nothing to say and he shared the same shocked, drop-jawed look that Skwisgaar and Pickles did. Nathan eyed Toki furiously, who sank down into the water, up to his chin, in regret, his face red.

"H-He...he doesn't fucking mean it like _that_!" Nathan decided he just _had_ to try and save his soul. "I've been letting him sleep in my bed—but nothing funny!" His voice was oddly high.

"Ja, but dats…prettys gay," Skwisgaar commented and Pickles nodded, who really didn't have the right to call someone _else_ gay for anything.

Nathan grimaced and pointed at the Swede.

"Whatever! I saw you leave with the manager the other night and you didn't come back! So obviously you slept _there_. Maybe you fucked _him_!"

Skwisgaar knew he was fucked in a lot of ways at the moment. He saw Pickles, out of the corner of his eye, turn and look at him slowly, his eyes furiously wide, his jaw clenched. But the blonde didn't dare look at him. And furthermore, how could he really explain why he was spending time with Charles? He didn't even know, himself. Toki rose out of the water, though, to add another pair of eyes on him.

"Fucks you, we was justs talkinks! He gots drunks and I's helps him to beds—sos whats?!"

"Charlie gat _drunk_?!" Pickles could hardly hide his rage. Little did he realize he'd slipped up, too. Surprisingly enough, it was Toki who caught on.

"Why you calls him _dat_?" Toki asked, his brow creasing in curiosity.

Everyone just stopped. They all glared at each other, for different reasons, until Murderface rose, feeling particularly uninterested and annoyed with all the drama.

"I'm goin' to bed, you guysch are crazchy." And with that, he was gone.

Nathan looked between all three of the other men remaining before getting out, too.

"Fuck this, I don't need to explain anything to you guys. I'm going to bed."

He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around him and took off down the hallway to his bedroom. Toki widened his eyes; he didn't want to stay and fight and he also didn't want Nathan to lock him out of his room. So he jumped out, not caring what impression he gave the others as he followed the singer.

"Hey, waits for me!"

Skwisgaar and Pickles remained. The blonde was turned away from the drummer, but he could feel his eyes on him. He tried, for a minute, to ignore the redhead and watch some more TV. But it was useless. After a few minutes, he set his guitar gingerly on the floor outside the hot tub and turned to Pickles.

It was odd, being there: and not just because they were both naked and in closer proximity than normal. It was weird because Skwisgaar seemed to feel a sort of hidden animosity for the drummer that had surfaced as of late. It showed up whenever he thought of Charles and he felt quite defensive of the manager. He was too arrogant to remind himself that he wasn't Charles' knight in shining armor.

"Pickle, I knows abouts you and Ofdensens," Skwisgaar admitted, unnecessarily.

"Yee-uh, I know." Pickles' usual easy-going tone was replaced with a harsh one as he crossed his arms.

"Listens, we didn'ts fucks, okay? I tolds you."

The drummer narrowed his eyes.

"I know that, too, cuz Charlie wouldn't cheat an me. Especially wit someone like _you._"

Skwisgaar felt that was a little below the belt. He clenched his fists and narrowed his own eyes right back at his older band mate.

"Oh ja? Well, he deserves someones bedder dans _you_. Yous just sleeps wid him."

"That's nat true. 'Asides, it's nunna yer business," he stated plainly.

"I's just his friends—he asks mes to be!"

It was true. Skwisgaar wasn't sure how to _be_ a friend, exactly, but he figured that not taking advantage of a very drunk person and helping them to bed was a pretty good start.

"Yee-uh, well…he doesn't _need _a friend, so jes'…leave 'im alone."

"I's nots goink to stops seeinks him…"

They stared at each other, their eyes narrowed into such small slits that it may have looked to an outsider as if they were closing their eyes. Finally, Pickles drew back and sighed.

"Fine…ya can hang wit him when AH'M not wit him. Ah'm pretty sure he wouldn't even go for ya, anyway." He'd seen that hit a nerve in Skwisgaar before, so he wanted to say it again. It seemed true enough to him, anyway.

"Whatsever," Skwisgaar leaned back, feigning relaxation, "He's just teachinks me to drive anyways. Yous is so paranoids, I don'ts gos for old _guys_."

Pickles was silent, but he nodded slightly. That was true. But it was also true that Skwisgaar liked what he couldn't have…so the drummer would just have to keep an eye out. And so he secretly made a vow to.

"Jes'…do me a favor 'n don't tell anyone, awright?" His face was softer now.

Skwisgaar nodded.

"Ja, I wouldn't wants anyones to know I's gay eider. If I's was. Which I's nots."

Pickles rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, man."

He set his drink down and got out of the hot tub, going to get a towel. Skwisgaar didn't watch him go, but heard his feet on the stone and then there was silence. It was more than frustrating; he had planned to go see the manager when the others went to bed, just to check up on his hangover. But now he was most certain that Pickles would get there first…

He didn't want Charles to feel like he had squealed on purpose. Nathan had caught him leaving with the manager, it wasn't his fault! But he decided to wait until morning. It had been too hard, last night, lying in bed next to someone and _not_ fucking them…especially when he thought about it so much. He needed to get out this sexual frustration, because to Skwisgaar, two days of celibacy felt like a decade. So he decided on some good, old fashioned slut-hunting.

Meanwhile, Nathan had allowed Toki to follow him, though thoroughly perturbed at him. He let the younger man in, who seemed to have his tail between his legs, and then shut and locked the door. He turned around, the light still on, with a mind to scold the Norwegian. But just as he did, Toki was slipping his towel off and crawling into bed…naked.

Nathan got an eyeful and his eyes widened. He remained silent.

"Nathans…" Toki's voice was soft, pleading even. He sat up in bed, pulling the comforter to him to cover himself up. He looked Nathan sheepishly. "I's ams real sorry…"

The singer could tell that he meant it. Damn Toki, there was no way to keep him from being himself; defensive and juvenile and emotional and quirky.

"I _told _you-" Nathan began, but just sighed. "Whatever, it doesn't matter."

He flipped off the light. Nathan didn't normally sleep in any clothes, but had donned boxers as acceptable pajamas ever since Toki began sleeping next to him. But since Toki wasn't bothering with any clothes, he figured he wouldn't either.

As he lay down beside the younger man, he realized; this _really_ didn't help his case against Skwisgaar and Pickles' accusations—lying naked next to a similarly nude and outed Toki.

"I just didn'ts wants dose guys to make funs of us…" Toki whispered helpfully.

"I don't give a damn what they think," Nathan lied, turning his back to the guitarist.

There was silence for a while and Toki thought Nathan had drifted until he finally spoke up again.

"Toki…you said before that you…ya know…"

"Whats?" Toki was clutching Deddy Bear, whose permanent home was now Nathan's bed. Having the singer _and_ Deddy to sleep with at night was like a fortress of protection.

"Well, done stuff with guys…when you were younger."

"Ja, ands whens I's older, too."

"…how old? Like…now?"

Toki stalled and he sounded pretty nervous.

"Sometimes dere is…you know, guys backstage, or whens wes on tour…"

Nathan couldn't hide his shock; the thought of Toki getting action from _male_ fans and hiding it from the rest of the band was…weird.

"Ohs, ands Skwisgaar."

What.

_What?!_

"Wait, WHAT?!"

Nathan practically bellowed. He flipped over, fast enough to frighten Toki into backing up against the headboard.

"Was justs one times! I-I was curious a-ands he's tells me dats he coulds helps!"

What a fucking _hypocrite_ Skwisgaar was.

"Let me fucking get this straight," Nathan's voice was hard to read, but he looked more than troubled, "You've been fucking guys this whole time without us knowing _and_ you fucked Skwisgaar?"

"Nos! No, I don'ts fucks dem! And I didn'ts _fucks_ Skwisgaar neither!"

He shook his head fervently and reached out, wrapping his hands around Nathan's forearms as if to emphasize his point…though it seemed quite like a possibly cheating lover denying false charges.

The thought of Toki and Skwisgaar together was…unsettling to Nathan. Upsetting even. And he didn't know why—and _that_ was even worse.

"So you just what, fool around or some shit?" His voice was still accusatory.

"W-Well…sometimes, da fans, dey…ya know, wants to touch me, or blows me…and I's lets dem. Sometimes. Nots as oftens as YOUS do with da goils!" Now he sounded equally angry.

"What?! I don't fuck _nearly_ as many groupies as I used t-…wait, why does it even fucking matter?! Tell me what happened with Skwisgaar," he demanded.

Toki sighed, still holding onto Nathan…realizing that they were dangerously close to each other, their faces inches apart. His voice was softer now.

"I tells Skwisgaar I thinks I mights be gay and he…tells me I cans…experinmates withs him."

"Experiment," Nathan corrected instinctively and then shook his head, dropping his gaze. "God, _everyone_ is gay around here…"

"Nots everyones! 'Sides, Skwisgaar nots gay. Neidder is Pickle, or Moidaface," he nodded encouragingly, hoping that this might help. "Justs me."

_Experiment, huh?_ Nathan thought. Maybe the "friendly jack off" thing wasn't so bad, then…

"I'm sorry, Toki," his voice was quite soft now, "You can do whatever you want."

Toki bit his lip. Nathan shouldn't have given him such freedom…because he leaned forward, catching the singer's lips in a passionate, hard kiss.

Nathan's first instinct was to pull back, punch hard and ask questions later. But for some reason, his body tensed and he stayed still. He didn't kiss back, necessarily, and he kept his eyes open—wide—but he remained where he was.

Toki put his hands on either side of the singer's face softly; he thought that if he put as much of himself into the kiss as he could, then Nathan might be inclined to kiss back.

Nathan was about ready to pull away…until he felt that same feeling he'd felt the night Toki had touched him; it was a rush of sensory emotions that outweighed any rational thought whatsoever. Toki's hair falling around their faces as the guitarist pressed more deeply into the kiss; Toki's hands on his face; Toki's smell…it was all too much.

After almost thirty seconds of hesitation, Toki felt Nathan's lips begin to move slowly, kissing him back. His stomach did a flip and he more than enthusiastically kept up the difficult work.

The kissing grew slightly more heated and Toki slowly removed the covers from his body, revealing it once again. Nathan's lap remained covered, but that didn't keep Toki from crawling into it and straddling him. He pulled away slightly to swing his hair to one side, leaning down once more to lock lips with the singer.

Nathan was gone; his mind was barely present. In order to deal, it seemed, he just gave into what his body wanted to do. And right now…his body _wanted_ Toki. It wanted Toki in the worst way.

Realizing this and throwing his inhibitions to the wind, Nathan placed both of his strong hands on the guitarist's hips. He rubbed softly, then harder at first and Toki moaned at the slight aggression. He liked and encouraged it, his own, exposed cock responding to the sensation.

Nathan had had enough of Toki being in control and so he flipped him over rapidly, having the Norwegian on his back in less than a second. Toki giggled slightly and wrapped his arms around the singer's neck as he was kissed again.

There was still a blanket between them, but that didn't stop Toki from feeling how hard Nathan had gotten. He gasped slightly against the older man's lips when he felt Nathan's cock brush his own through the fabric.

"Fuck, Toki," Nathan whispered, his voice rather breathy.

Toki felt his whole body flush as he heard his name escape Nathan's lips. He'd thought that he'd never hear it again after the first time…but it was even better now, even more needy.

"Nathans," he whimpered, "cans I's…touch yous again?"

_Fuck_.

Something was so hot about the way Toki asked for permission. It gave Nathan the exact ego boost that he loved during sex; needless to say, he got off on domination.

He nodded and moved his kisses to Toki's neck and ear, wanting to be buried in his hair. The Norwegian reached down with his hand eagerly to wrap it around the singer's bare cock. He bit his lip; he hoped he wouldn't be left hanging this time, because he was _really_ turned on and very hard himself.

He was rewarded with a very loud moan from the older man and he smiled—he loved making Nathan feel this way…completely lost in the moment. He stroked ardently and watched Nathan's face with interest. He seemed to be in complete ecstasy, a mix of pain and pleasure in his expression. Toki made a small noise of want and bucked up slightly, needing some friction on his own erection.

Nathan didn't want it to be unfair and he tried to bring himself back to earth enough to reach down and rub Toki through the blanket. The smaller man moaned—it was all he could ask for, to at least be touched.

He squeezed Nathan's cock in approval, working him over in the same fashion he had the first time. The kissing didn't stop; Toki was surprised at how much the singer _liked_ to kiss, even during distracting moments. But of course he didn't mind, it kept him feeling wanted.

It wasn't long before Nathan removed the covers completely and wrapped his strong hand around Toki's naked cock, stroking roughly. Toki cried out, the sudden feeling overwhelming.

"O-Oh! B-Behag, Nathans….Jeg trenger du…a-ahh, ja…"

Toki felt Nathan's cock twitch heavily when he spoke in his own language and it made him feel sexier…which was great, considering that he didn't think Nathan was attracted to him at _all_. After a few more seconds of heavy stroking and squeezing, Toki practically squealed as he released into Nathan's hand; the noise that came out of the younger man sent Nathan over the edge and he, too, came.

Nathan removed his hand to wipe it on the comforter without thinking, so Toki mimicked him. He wrapped his arms around the singer's shoulder, breathing heavily. Nathan fell to the guitarist's side and grunted, feeling spent. Toki giggled slightly, taking his familiar position on the singer's chest.

"Goodnights, Nathans…" He figured it'd be best to think more on this in the morning, when the older man might actually be willing to talk about it.

"Hm," he grunted back. "Goodnight."


	6. Chapter 6

Skwisgaar and Charles were in the Honda, parked on their favorite cliff near the edge of the island. Another driving lesson; the Swede was actually improving greatly, though the manager still slightly feared for his life when the speedometer hit forty or above.

It was after six and they were enjoying another sunset; both leaning back slightly in their seats to take in the scene. This hadn't been planned; but it was a welcome event as Pickles had canceled on Charles for the evening. Tomorrow was the redhead's birthday and he was in quite a sour mood about it. The older man let him off the hook, as long he promised to show up to his place tomorrow for a special dinner. Pickles had agreed.

Skwisgaar glanced over at the manager, sensing he was lost in thought.

"Charles?"

It was the first time he had heard his first name come from the Swede's lips. He was slightly startled and turned to blink at the blonde, but regained his placid air.

"Yes?"

Skwisgaar lay his head back on his seat and Ofdensen was slightly distracted by the way the sun's disappearing rays hit the younger man's pale hair, adding sparkle to his often unhealthy pallor.

"Do yous…evers get mads dat…you know, Pickle is justs bes around in da nighttimes?"

Charles thought for a moment and spoke rather slowly.

"Hm…I suppose…I don't get _angry_, necessarily. I would like for it to be a full relationship, but that seems impossible. I suppose I knew what I was getting myself into. I'm quite busy during the day."

Skwisgaar furrowed his brow.

"Ja, buts…alls you do is sleeps togedder." _He_ obviously understood, being the sex god that he was; but Charles seemed like the serious, monogamous relationship kind of guy.

Feeling slightly offended at the suggestion that he was simply in a sexual fling, Charles folded his hands in his lap and he pursed his lips tersely.

"I've told you before, Skwisgaar…it's not _just_ a sexual thing."

"Pfft," Skwisgaar looked back out at the ocean, unimpressed, "Ja okay." But then he turned back to the manager, a new smile on his face. "Don'ts worry…I's takes you outs."

"…what?"

"Ja, I's be dats guy. We cans have fun, goes to dinner and movies and things, then lets you go to Pickle at nights." _If you'd even want to_, he thought, slyly.

"Skwisgaar, I…don't think Pickles would be too happy about that."

"Actuallys he tells me dats I can haves you whens he's not wid you," the blonde answered plainly, but immediately changed his wording, "Er-…dats we cans hangs out." He shifted.

It was enticing. Charles was starting to thoroughly enjoy the Swede's company—he was quite worldly, despite his image; however, it sounded a lot like Skwisgaar wanted to "date" and that was just…strange. Nonetheless, the lack of romance and comradery _was_ felt in Charles' life.

"Hes can'ts say nothins. I's just likes to bes arounds you and wes just friends." His logic seemed sound enough.

Charles actually smiled. Over the past few weeks, Skwisgaar had been randomly showing up at his office, to talk or sometimes just practice guitar quietly. The manager never minded the company and honestly waited for the blonde's arrival most days anxiously. He could consider him a friend, so long as there was nothing nefarious behind his intentions.

"Skwisgaar, that's…that's sweet," Charles breathed. He couldn't think of a better word for it.

Skwisgaar liked seeing the manager smile and he nodded.

"Ja, I's is likes dat."

Charles actually chuckled and Skwisgaar beamed.

"Sos yous…goings to lets me? Maybes we goes outs tonights! Let's goes tos a bar! I likes it when yous drink," he nearly giggled.

"I'm…not sure that's a great idea," Charles looked down at his hands. "The last time I drank things turned out quite awful."

He remembered waking up clearly, though the night before was fuzzy; had Skwisgaar said the word "ass" in fifty different languages? He couldn't be sure. But he'd opened his eyes the following morning to a showered, half naked blonde, who was promising that nothing had happened aside from talking and sleeping. And he believed him; surely he would've remembered if _that_ had happened. Charles felt rather embarrassed to have lost control, it wasn't like him.

"Sometimes I fear you bring out the worst in me," the manager admitted lightly, laughing a bit. But Skwisgaar frowned.

"I don'ts thinks sos. You don'ts laughs and smiles likes dis with anyone else," he added defensively.

Charles looked at him for a moment, before nodding and sighing, looking out the window.

"I suppose you're right…"

Skwisgaar seemed satisfied with that and he smiled once more.

"Alrights. Is settleds. Let's gos back and change to gos outs!"

It was impossible to say no; in fact, Charles' ability to turn down the Swede was becoming harder. He was getting addicted to how _happy_ Skwisgaar looked when he got what he wanted. He felt that he knew the guitarist better than he knew Pickles these days.

"Alright."

They returned to "change", which really just entailed Charles removing his tie and jacket and Skwisgaar changing from a black tank top to a white one. They met once more, this time by Charles' black BMW and climbed into the car.

"Wow…dis cars is…nice," the Swede commented as he climbed in, running his fingers across the dashboard lightly, in an admiring manner.

"Yes, it is." Charles had gotten quite used to purchasing the newest and most expensive gadgets on the market. It was a perk from working with Dethklok that he happily indulged in.

He pulled out of the large, three-story garage and onto the street. He decided that if they were going to go to a bar, _he_ was going to decide which one; he didn't necessarily trust the blonde's tastes in nightlife spots for the time being. He and Nathan seemed to prefer dodgy bars in which to pick up the strangest, sluttiest women. And so he chose an upscale restaurant/bar on the northern side of town, about half an hour away from home.

They had valet and Skwisgaar got out, blinking.

"Is dis…a bars?" He looked up at the ritzy, two-story, tinted-windowed building.

"Yes, Skwisgaar," Charles handed the keys over and stepped up onto the sidewalk next to the blonde.

"Yous have…greats tastes," Skwisgaar nodded in approval, sticking his hands in his pockets.

A crowd started to form as passers-by were noticing Skwisgaar's presence and Charles escorted the guitarist into the bar before things got out of hand. He had informed the manager that they were coming and the man promised to have nothing but their best bartender and wait staff available; as well as security and peaceful patrons.

They grabbed a booth in the corner of the bar, the seats covered in red velvet. Everything around them was glass and there were many modern paintings (mostly just splatters of paint, in Skwisgaar's opinion) on the walls. Behind the bar was an artistic stack of hundreds of bottles of alcohol, and everyone seemed to be in suits and fancy dresses.

Skwisgaar shifted a bit in the seat as he glanced around, feeling just slightly underdressed—and he rarely ever cared about this type of etiquette. The booth was half a circle, a round table in the middle; perhaps the kind of booth that lovers would sit at so that they could be right next to each other. But Charles and Skwisgaar sat on the ends, opposite each other. The sounds of swanky jazz filled the bar and Charles looked carefully at the Swede, reading his expression.

"You're…uncomfortable?"

Charles knew that he had chosen the most expensive place in town; but he always had an "all or nothing" mentality and if he was going to go out, he was going _out_. Besides, it had been a long time since he'd been out with just one other person in such an intimate setting. Part of him wished it could've been with Pickles, but he pushed that from his mind. Skwisgaar looked back at the manager and smiled, looking rather sexy in the soft lights.

"Nos, of course nots…justs…I should've expected this froms you."

He said it in such an affectionate way that it made a small smile tug at the manager's lips. Why the hell did Skwisgaar have to be so damn charming?

"Nothing but the best," he agreed.

"Exactlys…"

Skwisgaar's smile dropped slightly and he stared at the older man meaningfully, long enough to force Charles to look away.

They both ordered their first drinks: Skwisgaar, a rich German beer and Charles, a scotch. Their conversations started out friendly and light enough at first; but after a few they took a turn for the worse, at least in Charles' opinion. The two also ended up sitting quite close together, towards the middle of the booth.

"Sos, justs wonderings, but…ah…whos is…ons de top?" Skwisgaar asked as he took another greedy swig of his third beer.

Charles didn't have to ask what he meant.

"What do you think?" He loved to play Skwisgaar's strings, trying to get out of him what he wished to hear. The Swede smirked.

"I thinks yous takes it…_everys_ times." He was partly teasing, but he really had no idea how spot on he was. "Buts den again…you likes to bes ins control. I just…can'ts sees Pickle gettings it in de ass!" He snorted.

Charles sighed. If he hadn't been drinking, he wouldn't have been so open about the subject.

"The former," he admitted and then he clarified. "Pickles…won't let me. You know…be on the top."

Skwisgaar nearly choked, coughing and sputtering as he swallowed beer again.

"Whats?! Dats not fair!"

Charles almost laughed—the blonde really _did _look pretty horrified.

"It's fine, I…suppose some people are just like that." He didn't mention how annoying it was.

"Buts…isn'ts yous supposed to takes turns?" Skwisgaar didn't pretend to be an expert on gay relationships, but he had a pretty good idea. He was actually quite surprised that the manager was constantly dominated.

"I…don't really know. Are you?" Charles laughed slightly, downing his third scotch. "Regardless, I-…it's…" He trailed off.

"…so he…doesn'ts lets you fucks him?"

The way Skwisgaar kind of tilted his head down to catch the manager's dropped eyes and the way he licked his lips after he said that was so sensual. Charles shifted a bit, but kept his eyes locked on the Swede's once they had been caught.

"…no…" he almost whispered.

They sat there for a good, solid minute before Skwisgaar broke their gaze, looking down.

"Hm…"

No more was said on the subject.

They sat, talking, for another hour and through another drink; the topics were pretty random, but all circled around cultural differences between the States and Sweden. It ended by Skwisgaar promising to take Charles there one day—just the two of them, on a vacation. They'd been there for shows many times, but he wanted to show the manager the town, so to speak.

"I'd like that," Charles had said.

Skwisgaar offered to drive them home, but that was laughable. They weren't shitfaced, but most definitely too intoxicated to operate a vehicle. And so Charles called a few Klokateers: one to take his beamer home and one to take them to his apartment. Once they arrived back at the older man's place, Charles undid the top button of his shirt and plopped down on the couch.

"I guess you don't have to leave…since Pickles isn't coming tonight." Why did he feel dirty saying that? Or at least slightly guilty…

Skwisgaar nodded.

"I wasn'ts planninks on goings anywhere."

He sat down, right beside Charles, who was too buzzed to protest. But he did tilt his head slightly and peer at the Swede suspiciously.

"Skwisgaar, may I ask you something?"

"Yes, ofs course."

"…not to be rude, but…well, I always see you bringing back women to your room. Almost every night. Isn't that more enticing than staying here and talking to _me_?"

Skwisgaar chuckled, but it sounded kind of bitter.

"Yous justs don't gets it, ah? I thoughts you was smarts. I _wants_ to bes here." He emphasized his point by putting his slender-fingered hand on the older man's knee. The physical contact felt good and sent an odd shock up the manager's leg.

"Alright…well, just so you know, if you need to leave I won't be offended." And he half expected it would happen eventually.

Charles closed his eyes, letting his head fall back on the couch. He felt so relaxed and at ease and it wasn't just the alcohol; he'd worried earlier in the day that he would have to be alone tonight. And he was grateful that his situation had changed.

Skwisgaar took advantage of the fact that the manager had closed his eyes and he watched his face. This "friend" thing was confusing…The lines were blurred for the Swede because he'd never really tried to have a platonic relationship with a gay man; aside from Toki and that _hardly_ counted. Toki was much like his little brother and he didn't really have a choice when it came to being around him. They were in the same damn band.

But there was something about Charles that had Skwisgaar consistently coming back…almost every day. And for what? He hadn't gotten any sexual favors and, as far as he knew, Charles never wanted anything sexual from Skwisgaar at all. He had a lover. It often felt like a dead end because sex was almost always the ultimate goal for the Swede. As Nathan had stated before, when they were marveling at a man's ability to suck his own cock, everything they do is to get someone to fucking make you cum. And that was it.

Orgasms, pleasure, physical love…what else was there to want? It seemed that even Pickles had that as his only ambition and for some reason, that angered Skwisgaar; perhaps he just didn't want to see Charles get hurt. That was it, he _cared_ about the man. And he was perfectly fine with spending time with him, even if it didn't result in getting his dick touched.

Okay, not…_perfectly_ fine.

Especially now, when Charles looked so helpless and slightly inebriated, open and vulnerable. He always seemed to have the manager in this position, ready for manipulation…and yet Skwisgaar still didn't press it. So _this_ is what it felt like to truly respect somebody…

And then Charles ruined the blonde's somewhat innocent ultimatum.

"You know, Skwisgaar," Charles blurted out, his mind miles away, "you did look exceptionally beautiful tonight. In those lights, at the bar…"

The blonde was shocked into silence for a moment, but then he smiled.

"As dids you…though I thinks handsomes is a goods word."

"Very good word," Charles nodded. "But 'beautiful'…suits you. You are."

That was it. He couldn't take it. He didn't care if he got thrown out, or scolded for it…but he was _going_ to kiss Charles.

And so he leaned in, catching the manager by surprise since he didn't even see the Swede coming. He pressed his lips to the older man's, with enough pressure to assert his need. Charles' eyes opened in alarm, but he didn't jerk away...at first. His hands came up in an "I'm innocent" sort of way, his palms out, resisting the urge to place them on the blonde's slender shoulders.

His body and heart told him to kiss back; and so he did initially. But his mind started to scream and he pulled away quickly, pushing himself further back into the couch cushions.

"Skwisgaar, I-…"

"I KNOWS!" Skwisgaar yelled and he jumped up. He began to pace, gesticulating with his hands wildly as he spoke fervently, apparently very frustrated. "I don'ts knows whats else to dos, dis driving me CRAZY!"

He turned to look at Charles, his brow furrowed pitifully.

"Every times I sees you…I aches. I's startinks to hates Pickle and I don'ts evens know why! I…I just…wants to bes wid you _all_ de times. And sometimes I thinks dat yous looks at me like…like how I's looks at you. But yous are so…so…UGH!" He flew to the window, looking out, not being able to properly explain himself in English. He was too flustered to find the right words.

"I thinks, at nights, about…abouts you and Pickle. Whats you are doings, what…what he's doings to _you_…wishing its was me makings you moan…" He turned and looked at Charles meaningfully. But he turned away quickly, the heat of the manager's shocked, piercing eyes on him overwhelming.

"I-…I don'ts knows if I cans do dis friends thing…I'ms just SUCKS at it! Maybes we-"

But he was cut off—as Charles grabbed the Swede's wrist and wheeled him around, pulling him close into a passionate and harder kiss. This time his lips were ready and willing. He wrapped his left arm tightly around Skwisgaar's waist, his other coming up to entangle in the blonde's pale and soft hair.

It was such an adoring kiss that it made Skwisgaar go temporarily weak in the knees. Ofdensen had a great power in him to make the Swede feel slightly feminine and fairly vulnerable in his arms, something he hadn't expected. He actually made a tiny noise into Charles' mouth, startlingly enough. After a good few minutes of just kissing heatedly, Charles pulled away; but he continued to hold the guitarist close and Skwisgaar had his hands on the older man's shoulders.

"I had no idea, Skwisgaar…" In truth, he was so completely flattered that he made the rash decision to thank him…physically.

"Ja…" Skwisgaar was quite speechless. He was in the middle of his embarrassed tirade, almost ready to storm out when it had happened. He honestly had _never_ expected this. He didn't dare mention anything about what Pickles would do if he found out, but it crossed his mind.

Charles' inhibitions were starting to catch up with him now and he tensed slightly, starting to slowly let go of the other man. But Skwisgaar would have none of that. He smiled and gently pulled the older man closer, by his hips. He rubbed softly and Charles gave in, running his hands gingerly up and down the sinewy muscles of the blonde's arms.

"I won't lie, Skwisgaar," he whispered, "you've completely surprised me. You caught me off guard…I never expected you to…" he shook his head, "…be so utterly irresistible to me…"

The Swede nodded, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of Charles' astonishingly gentle fingers. He felt true affection in the older man's touch and it was completely alien to him. Nice, but foreign.

"Please…" Charles had never heard Skwisgaar's voice so soft and pleading, "Don'ts makes me go…I wants to stay…"

The manager knew what he was asking of him. He ran his hands up Skwisgaar's chest, watching them. Slowly, he shook his head.

"I can't…" But Skwisgaar easily caught the uncertainty in his voice.

"I knows," Skwisgaar admitted, his voice even lower, barely audible, "I knows you wants me to…"

It was hard to tell whether he was trying to convince himself, or Charles; either way, it was true. Charles _did_ want him to stay. And the thought was frightening.

A truly sober Charles would have been able to completely weigh the risks of sleeping with Skwisgaar. Would he even mean anything to the blonde afterward? Could he keep this from Pickles? Might it create a rift in the band? Despite breaking Charles' heart, Skwisgaar could do a lot more damage to his livelihood if he created more animosity with the drummer by fucking his man.

But at the moment, all Charles' mind was interested in dwelling on was how warm Skwisgaar was…how truly alluring his voice had become.

_Tomorrow is Pickles' birthday_…

For some reason the thought jerked the manager's sense of reason to life. This was _wrong_. In so many ways.

He pulled away—completely this time, no longer touching the blonde at all.

"Skwisgaar, I-…I can't do this. Not to Pickles. I…I'm sorry…"

The blonde dropped his arms; they'd still been reaching out for the manager. The look of hurt that shadowed Skwisgaar's face was heart-breaking. But quickly, it turned to anger, the only outlet for pain that the blonde knew, aside from guitar.

"He doesn'ts loves you," he practically growled.

Charles looked quite taken aback by that and he clenched his jaw. His voice got dangerously low, yet characteristically even.

"You have no idea how he feels about me. You don't even know me. You just want what you've been told you can't have." He felt that if he said it enough times it would be true—it wasn't what he really thought Skwisgaar's motivation was. But it was a good reason to push him away.

The Swede's frown turned into a scowl and he grabbed the older man's arm—not harshly, but firmly, and pulled him close. He wrapped his other arm around Charles' waist, pinning him mercilessly.

"Don'ts tells me dat I don'ts cares about you, dats dis isn'ts real," he said with such fierceness that it rendered Charles immobile for a moment. Skwisgaar used the silence again to lean down and kiss the manager, once more, a new fury to his actions.

It became quite frenzied for a minute as Charles struggled against the blonde, who wasn't backing down. He groaned against Skwisgaar's lips, in a frustrated fashion, but it wasn't long before he was kissing back again, his previous resistance dissipating. He wrapped his arms around the Swede's neck, pulling him closer.

Skwisgaar began to kiss with more passion than anger now, running his hands up Charles' back slowly, still holding him securely to his chest. Neither man was sure who stepped toward the hallway first, but after a few seconds, both were heading for the bedroom, still locked in their animated kissing.

Charles couldn't deny it any longer. His body had made the decision for him.

Once in Charles' room, Skwisgaar began unbuttoning the manager's shirt. He easily slid it off of him after he was finished and pulled his own tank top over his head, tossing it to the floor. After removing the older man's undershirt, he smiled, his fingers dancing over Charles' surprisingly toned muscles.

"Yous is modests…"

Charles smiled, deciding to reward the compliment with a kiss. Despite ignoring his better judgment, he was completely in control of himself and the situation. He rarely lost himself in a fit of emotion, or passion and he was beginning to regain his more sensible intuitions. That is, until Skwisgaar leaned down, his lips to the manager's ear, and whispered in his velvety voice…

"I wants you to makes loves to me…"

Charles pulled away slightly to judge the Swede's expression—surely he wasn't inviting _him_ to be on top. But Skwisgaar looked rather solemn, as if he'd just given grave news.

"Skwisgaar…I'm…not sure that's wise…Have you ever…_done_ that before?"

"Nos," the blonde admitted rather unapologetically, slowly moving around Charles and stopped to stand behind him. He placed his gentle hands on the older man's shoulders and began to trail kisses down his neck. "Buts I wants you…"

Charles groaned, closing his eyes.

"You want me…like that?" His voice was almost a whimper. He felt he would slowly lose control if Skwisgaar continued to pull his strings in this manner.

"…yes…insides of me."

That was it. All he had to do was hear it and he was gone. It meant so much more to him that Skwisgaar actually wanted to submit to him—it seemed so much more real that way, like less of a one night stand. Mainly because the Swede had stuck his dick in probably thousands of people; but allowing someone inside of him, and for the first time, was monumental in comparison.

Charles turned around, pulling the guitarist into another ravenous kiss. He would have to be careful, he knew this, and he was more than delighted when Skwisgaar pulled a condom from his pocket, muttering something about always being prepared. While it was slightly irksome, it was nonetheless welcomed; he knew the younger man's medical records, knew that he was shockingly clean of STDs, but caution was definitely necessary, if even just for Charles' peace of mind.

For a while, they just lie on the bed together, involved in kissing, petting and rubbing. Charles had managed to strip them of their remaining clothing and had Skwisgaar on his back below him, hovering slightly. He was now busy biting and sucking a tiny, conquering mark just below the Swede's jaw line. The submissive bucked his hips slightly, brushing his impressively sized erection against the manager's bare leg.

"_Please_…" he groaned, "/s/ Don't stop, take me, just take me…oh, please…/s/"

The manager's stomach flipped in sheer excitement as the Swedish poured from Skwisgaar's lips. He wasn't able to decipher it; the only Swedish he knew was a few business terms and enough to speak to other management and hotel staff when they were on tour. But this was much better and the language took on a new, fluid sexiness.

He whispered in the blonde's ear softly as he reached down to wrap his fingers around Skwisgaar's cock, which prompted a grateful moan from him.

"Are you sure that you want this?"

All Skwisgaar could do was nod; in all honesty, he was quite terrified. He wasn't sure how well he would react to not just the pain, but the feeling of being "entered". It creeped him out a little. But this was the only way to show Charles that he didn't just want to fuck: he wanted _him_, in so many ways, despite a part of his brain that told him to run away.

Charles kissed his ear affectionately and continued to pump the Swede's erection, trying to relax him; and it worked. Skwisgaar let his head fall back onto the pillows behind him, looking quite desperate for release. This is exactly how the manager wanted him: squirming and defenseless.

The older man retreated momentarily to pull open the drawer from his nightstand. He pulled out a bottle of warming lube, which Skwisgaar noticed was half empty. Where had the other half gone…? He suddenly felt quite possessive of Charles, remembering that he normally belonged to Pickles every night. He reached out for the older man in a needy way and Charles smiled.

"Don't worry, love, I'm not going anywhere."

And he welcomed himself back into the Swede's safe arms. Their lips met once more as Charles opened the tube and lubed up one finger. He broke the kiss to move down Skwisgaar's long, lean body and stopped once at his cock. He licked up the shaft dramatically and the blonde arched his back, only to look back down at the manager quickly.

"Ohhh, j-ja…please, likes dat…"

He reached down to entangle his fingers in Charles' hair, tousling it slightly. He wanted to see the man unhinged, undone. Little did he know how truly affected the older man was just by being here, being permitted to touch Skwisgaar in such a fashion.

He used his lube-free hand to hold the Swede's length at the base, while taking a few inches of it in his mouth. Skwisgaar let out a loud, deprived noise.

"/s/ Ohh…that's amazing, you're amazing…you…I…yes, please, I _need_ you…/s/ I needs you…" He felt the need to reiterate himself in English to emphasize how he felt about Charles. It made the manager smile—well, as much as he could with a very large and throbbing cock in his mouth.

With Skwisgaar seemingly so ready and writhing, Charles decided to begin the stretching process. He reached down with his lubed finger and lightly rubbed at the Swede's opening, not yet diving in. He kept his mouth busy, which kept the blonde's mind busy enough to let him continue, uninterrupted.

Charles played up his enthusiasm, moaning softly as he sucked, and used this as a distraction to his finger sliding into Skwisgaar's tightly muscled entrance. The Swede's gasp was very audible and the manager removed his mouth temporarily to watch his face.

Skwisgaar looked completely paralyzed, his expression unreadable and slightly blank. But he didn't tell Charles to stop and so he continued to move in and out of the guitarist.

"Skwisgaar…" he slowly ran his tongue back up the younger man's cock, finally getting a response. The Swede groaned, but in a new way; it was a drawn out, rough, needy sound that ended in a whimper that sounded slightly like a half-sob. It was almost touching. Skwisgaar was obviously _very_ affected by this new feeling and Charles could sympathize.

"Relax, Skwisgaar…I'm not going to hurt you…I would _never_ hurt you…" His words seemed to help and the blonde let out another breathy moan. Charles used his free hand to stroke him now, wanting to use his mouth for a different purpose.

"Just let me in…let me in and I promise I'll never let go…"

For all the times in his life that Skwisgaar had been abandoned, hurt, abused and damaged—mostly just from his mother—he certainly felt secure. As long as Charles would continue to tell him that he was safe, he would believe it. At this specific moment in time, he would believe _anything_ the older man told him. And he just _had_ to feel needed.

Charles added a second finger after a few moments, still working the Swede with his hand, but slowly; he didn't want Skwisgaar to reach orgasm. Not yet.

Finally, the blonde couldn't take anymore. His face was beautifully flushed, his body practically in pain with desire.

"Please…" He reached out for Charles. "Please, dos its now…"

His expression was that of a lost and trusting child, looking for shelter. Charles welcomingly fell into the Swede's arms, kissing him tenderly.

"Oh, Skwisgaar…"

He easily removed the condom from its package, sliding it on his own, forgotten, pulsing erection. As he entered Skwisgaar slowly, his low moan drowned out the sound of the front door opening quietly…

Pickles had been feeling quite lonely; after all, it was now technically his birthday. It was after midnight and he felt guilty for turning down his lover just so he could sulk. He was 38. Fuck. That was depressing. He at least didn't want to mope alone and thought that maybe some physical love might help his despair. He felt quite deserving of it, despite having been neglecting Charles the past few days.

But the noises he heard after shutting the door carefully stopped him in his tracks. His heart began to beat deafeningly in his ears as he listened intently.

Moaning.

Whispering.

_Swedish._

"C-Charles…Oh!...y-yes, rights der…/s/ please, don't ever stop, cum, cum…please…/s/"

"Oh, _God_, Skwisgaar…please…l-let me…ohhh…"

Pickles clenched his jaw. He stared at the wall, his skin hot with rage, his mind reeling. He didn't need to spy to figure out what Charles was doing…or, more correctly, _who_.

This was it. Skwisgaar was dead. He was _going_ to die. Not tonight, but soon. The drummer would make sure of it. He wouldn't live to fuck anyone else, ever again.

And the sound of Pickles leaving, too, was muffled by Charles' orgasm, his shaking body, pounding heart and his faint whisper…

"I love you…"


	7. Chapter 7

Toki had expected to wake up the following morning on Nathan's chest, satisfied and at ease. Instead, he awoke alone, insecure and disoriented. Nathan was gone. His spot was cold. After getting up, sneaking to his room to dress and right his hair, he wandered around Mordhaus. The singer couldn't be found. An aching panic spread throughout Toki's chest and he ended his search back where he'd started, sitting slowly on the familiar mattress.

He'd never felt so alone.

Nathan wouldn't return that day, or night. Toki stayed in his room, waiting, to no avail; as the evening rolled around, he'd heard Skwisgaar leave for his driving lesson and the hallway was quiet. The Swede never returned, except once, only to change and leave again.

And so Toki settled in to spend the night alone, in the singer's bed. Even Deddy couldn't keep him company and, inevitably, the nightmares returned.

The next day was Pickles' birthday; he remembered that. He remembered _everyone's_ birthday, even when no one wanted him to. After waking up alone, and quite shaken from the childhood memories that had flooded back to him because of a lack of security, he slowly trudged to breakfast.

_1…2..3…_he counted in his head as his eyes scanned the dining room table—Murderface, Pickles, Skwisgaar…but no Nathan.

He plopped down next to the lead guitarist and slumped. It wasn't until he'd had his first bowl of cereal that he realized the electricity in the air. Pickles was staring intently at Skwisgaar, as the Swede kept his head dipped down, busy over a plate of pancakes; but he wasn't eating, just picking. Pickles had the morning newspaper unfolded and up, peering over it, obviously not reading.

Maybe Skwisgaar had forgotten this very special occasion? Oh!

"Happys Birthday, Pickle!" Toki cried out excitedly, wide-eyed, hoping to fix the mood.

"AW, FUCK YOU, MAN!" Pickles threw the paper down as he exploded. He flipped his full plate over and stormed off. Skwisgaar finally looked up, watching him go.

Toki had jumped back at the verbal assault and he finally glanced over at Skwisgaar—damn, he looked tired.

"Whats…his problems?"

Murderface sniffed, his arms crossed.

"I think he'sch juscht mad about…ya know, turnin' the big…er-…how old isch Picklesch again?"

Skwisgaar just shrugged. Why was he being so quiet? Usually he was all too ready to jump at someone else's misery with a snide comment or at least a hearty "Pfft!".

"…Skwisgaar? Ams yous okay?"

Another shrug. He looked back down at his uneaten breakfast.

Toki huffed, his brow furrowing, his arms crossing. He hated how uncaring everyone was most of the time. All the apathy was emotionally exhausting for Toki and he had no outlet—at least with Nathan gone. When he finally spoke again, his voice was intentionally less enthusiastic.

"…anyones seen Nathans?"

Skwisgaar finally spoke up. His voice was odd, soft and distant.

"He's left yesterdays mornings...don'ts know to where he wents."

Murderface looked at Toki, raising his eyebrows, shaking his head.

"I dunno, man."

The day went by painfully slow. Toki didn't seem to have enough to do. He tried to build a model plane, but his anxious fingers wouldn't allow him the usual dexterity or concentration. Every hour or so, he would emerge from his room to peek out at Nathan's door; but it remained wide open and his room completely vacant.

_He's run away from me…it scared him. _

Toki's heart was broken; what had been a dream come true to him…had been a confusing nightmare for Nathan. He knew it. And now he was paying for it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Charles couldn't avoid Pickles' eyes any longer. Not with the drummer staring at him like that.

There they sat, at a small dining room table in Charles' apartment. The birthday dinner was still on. There were two, tall, white candles lit in the middle of the table, their flames reflected in Pickles' livid, green eyes. Their gourmet meal remained untouched and perfectly plated in front of them.

The drummer had barely said a word when he'd arrived. Charles had everything ready and even as he'd poured the wine, Pickles hadn't taken his eyes off of the manager. It was an accusing glare and the older man knew, immediately, that Pickles knew. There was no question; he was too intuitive of a man to miss the obvious allegation in the redhead's glowering.

Pickles was on the edge of his seat, his hands below the table, fists clenched, leaning forward as if ready to pounce. Charles maintained his usual, relaxed but attentive posture, his chin resting on his folded hands, elbows on the table. He was finally looking back at his lover, now, showing no expression whatsoever; and this is what finally drove Pickles over the edge.

He rose in a flash, flipping over the table with ease in a tirade of fury. Charles jumped up, his eyes widening.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TA ME?!"

For a moment, Pickles seemed content to just fly about the room, breaking random china and furniture, cursing and threatening and screaming. Charles watched, feeling quite uneasy; he honestly hadn't planned to tell Pickles…yet…and when the drummer had arrived obviously distressed, he'd been scrambling to figure out how to handle the situation.

He knew Pickles had quite the temper.

Finally, the younger man stopped, breathing hard, his eyes wild, and he looked back at Charles.

"Well," the manager began, frowning, "if you're done _destroying_ my entire collection…"

Pickles began, slowly at first, to step towards Charles, then quickly enough to be in his face in a millisecond. The manager had backed up, hitting the wall rather suddenly, with a thud. Pickles practically snarled, placing his palms on either side of the older man, on the wall, his arms outstretched. He had him pinned.

Charles tried to uphold his calm stance, raising his chin slightly and keeping a placid look. This only served to infuriate Pickles further and when he spoke, his voice was low and acidic. He stared right into Charles' eyes.

"What was it like, Charlie? Huh? Did he make ya cum?" He spoke through clenched teeth now, his words intentionally becoming vulgar. "Did his big fuckin' cock make ya scream?"

Charles grimaced, disgusted by Pickles' behavior, but the drummer caught him by the arm, throwing him back up against the wall. This time, the manager felt quite paralyzed…not by fear, but definitely shock. Pickles leaned in closer, his lips centimeters from the older man's.

"Did he make ya feel dirty? Like a whore? Is that what ya wanna be, Charlie?" His hands clenched into fists and his voice became a fuming whisper. "I think about him inside 'a you…makin' you moan the way you were…I _heard_ it. I came in ta surprise ya…"

Charles had thought he was being paranoid when he'd heard his front door open and shut last night. He swallowed hard, his eyes racing from Pickles' eyes, to his mouth and back again.

"…after _everything_…" the drummer let his head fall, looking at the floor now, "and with _Skwisgaar_….? Could ya sink ANY lower?!" His body was shaking with anger.

Charles took in a terse breath, feeling his blood boil slightly. He hadn't felt like he'd _sunk_ at all by making love to the Swede. It was only through Pickles' neglect that he was even able to develop feelings for the other man.

"For the record," Charles whispered, unable to stop himself, "_He_ wasn't inside of _me_."

Pickles looked up, his eyes wide and slightly maniacal.

"Ya mean…?"

Charles nodded.

"FUCK!"

Pickles reared back and for a moment, Charles thought that he was going to hit him; but inside, Pickles' fist was aimed at the wall. He punched it _hard_. And when he pulled back, there was a grapefruit-sized hole in the drywall, pieces of it tumbling to the ground. The drummer's knuckles were red and beginning to bleed, but he ignored them.

"I want you to leave. _Now,_" Charles commanded. He knew that if he really wanted to, he could take Pickles out; with his prior training, he could have the drummer pinned on the floor in a second in a dangerous chokehold. Hell, he could break all of his bones and render him completely useless if he wanted.

But the truth was, he didn't want to harm Pickles. He'd already hurt him enough, that much was apparent.

Charles made sure that the candles were out before leaving the room, not wanting to have to deal with a fire among all of this wreckage. He walked briskly to the front hallway, to the front door, throwing it open.

"OUT!" He practically screamed, pointing to the exit.

Pickles slowly walked into the room, still looking at the floor.

"Ah'm nat losin' you ta him…"

Charles' lips parted slightly and his anger was slipping slightly. Pickles suddenly looked quite pitiful, his body slumping, his fury dissipating. It was replaced, unfortunately, by extreme sorrow and when the drummer spoke again, it was a soft whisper. It was shaky.

"Please…I-…I can't lose you like this…"

Charles felt his heart breaking. He couldn't deny the extreme affection he felt as he watched the younger man fall to pieces in front of him. Yes, Pickles had an impossible addiction to mind altering substances; yes, he was sometimes unpredictable and unreliable. But he was, undoubtedly, a part of Charles. He was woven into his life.

"Yer my rock, Charlie…" Pickles looked up finally, his voice pleading. "I…I always trusted you. You're the only thing in my life that…that I coulda done right…" He shook his head and Charles watched miserably as tears formed in the drummer's eyes. "I _shoudla_ done right," he corrected.

"Pickles…" Charles finally broke his stare and shut the front door slowly.

The younger man just stood there, his arms hanging at his sides, looking lost, a tear daring to trail down his freckled cheek. Charles instinctively walked to him, cautiously, to wipe it away.

"I-…I'm sorry," Charles finally whispered. Why hadn't he thought to say that before?

Pickles nodded.

"I know…"

He reached out for the manager, uncertainly, and was readily embraced.

"I'm not sure how to make this right," Charles admitted, letting Pickles bury his face in his chest, "but I…I want to."

...didn't he?

Pickles' voice was muffled, but his meaning was clear.

"It's nat you."

In Pickles' opinion, while he was taking it out on Charles, it wasn't the manager's fault. It was Skwisgaar's—the damn Swede couldn't stand to watch someone else be happy, or have something that he couldn't. Pickles was _sure_ of this. The fucking slut had charmed his way straight into his lover's bed…and he would regret it.

"Pickles, Skwisgaar and I-…" He didn't know how to defend the Swede properly. After all, both men had made the conscious decision to lie together last night. It had been pure attraction, physical _and_ emotional. There hadn't been any real, disreputable seduction.

"Just…stap. Don't tahk about him, okee?" He wrapped his arms more tightly around Charles, kissing his chest once. _Mine_, he thought. _He's fucking MINE_.

"Okay…but please, this is…between you and I, all right?" He knew Pickles well; at times, as recently displayed, his temper knew no boundaries. And he wasn't always an obvious, physical fighter like Nathan, or Murderface. He was _clever_ and indirect…much like Charles. Much more dangerous.

"Yee-uh, sure," Pickles lied. "Jes'…" He finished his command with a meaningful kiss, reaching up to capture Charles' lips passionately. He _wasn't_ going to lose him. Especially not to fucking _Skwisgaar_.

Charles was content to kiss back, but he didn't feel right; he couldn't place why. It may have been the overwhelming guilt. Finally, he stepped back.

"Pickles, I…I think we should be apart tonight. I don't deserve this." He looked away, sheepishly, which wasn't like him.

Pickles sighed, but nodded.

"We both have things…that we need ta sort out," he agreed.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, watching the floor now and retreated to the door, opening it.

"Pickles?" Charles' voice was barely audible.

"Yee-uh?" He turned just slightly, listening over his shoulder.

"Happy Birthday…" He felt almost dirty saying it now and he frowned.

"I never expect it ta be."

And he was gone.

Charles turned regretfully back to his dining room, after he'd shut the door. What a mess. He decided to leave it and have a Klokateer clean it up in the morning. He sure as hell wasn't going near all that broken glass.

He decided to take a wine bottle to bed with a book to relax. But just as he was changing into his silk pajamas, there was an urgent knock on his front door. He had two guesses as to who it could be, and neither guest was too welcome at the moment…

Nonetheless, he unlocked and opened the door. There stood Skwisgaar, his posture tranquil enough, but he was betrayed by the slightly frantic look in his eyes.

"Ares yous alone?" he asked quietly. Charles simply nodded, letting him in.

He shut, locked…and dead bolted…the door. He turned to see the Swede pacing.

"Skwisgaar…it's very late. You knew that I had plans tonight." He couldn't think of a particularly good reason why he shouldn't be here.

"Ja, buts den where is he?" Skwisgaar challenged, stopping to give Charles a meaningful look.

Before the manager could explain in his typical, vague way, the guitarist saw the state of the other room out of the corner of his eye. He marched over to the entrance to the dining room, his eyes wide.

"Holy fucks!" He whirled around back to Ofdensen. "Whats happens?!"

Charles sighed, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. He was just so _tired_.

"Pickles knows. He wasn't happy."

"Dids hes hurt yous?!"

Charles chuckled bitterly. The idea was laughable…him being the scared, abused boyfriend. Skwisgaar had no idea just how well trained in combat he was.

"No, Skwisgaar…he didn't hurt me. But he knows."

"Ja," Skwisgaar nodded and slowly began to walk closer to Charles, "I noticeds hims…starinks at me ats breakfast todays. I wanteds to warns you buts I-…" He stopped dead in his tracks, looking away, his beautiful, pale skin going slightly pink.

The older man returned his glasses to his face and looked up at the Swede with a curious expression on his face. The morning had been such a busy one. He'd had to leave a naked, sleeping Skwisgaar and hurry to the office. It was tax season, after all, and not a moment of the work day was to be wasted. When he'd returned, around six, Skwisgaar was gone, which he'd expected.

He watched Skwisgaar carefully; he'd half expected last night to be a fluke, for the guitarist to avoid him completely. But as he stood here now, he looked rather affected and almost disturbed.

"Skwisgaar…why did you come here?" He didn't sound annoyed, but earnestly interested.

And suddenly he realized, as he saw how speechless and blank the blonde looked; he didn't know. He had _no_ idea what he was doing back here. And Charles was right.

Skwisgaar had felt the gravitational pull of Charles all day; it had irritated him, to the point where he'd locked himself in his room and practiced guitar until his fingers bled. Usually, after sex, he felt rejuvenated, fulfilled.

But after last night…it wasn't that he'd felt unsatisfied, but just…needy. Clingy, even. _Desperate_.

"I…wanteds to sees you alls day…and I just nows…gots de courage to comes here…"

His voice revealed his inner turmoil and he had that lost look in his eyes again. Charles' emotions could barely stand to have had _two_ men in his living room tonight looking at him like that. He felt drained.

"And do you feel you've made the right decision?"

It was hard to tell, with Skwisgaar, when he was making a decision based on impulse and when it was true to what he really wanted. After all, the Swede had spent most of his life just giving into his desires on a whim and never giving much thought to the morning after.

But it was obvious that there were ties here that went beyond sex. Charles was personally glad to see that.

"Ja. I do. I…wants to bes here."

And he finally made the move to the manager, putting his hands on Charles' hips, who instinctually wrapped his around Skwisgaar's neck.

Why had it been so easy to ask Pickles to leave and now…he wouldn't even dream of doing that to the Swede? Perhaps it was the way that Skwisgaar was looking at Charles…as if he was the only thing in the entire world worth giving attention to.

It was intoxicating.

"Then I want you here. Stay…"

"I wills…I can'ts leaves now. My body…my minds…dey won'ts lets me. No matters wheres I go, whats I do…I thinks of you."

He put his forehead to Charles' head, being somewhat taller than the man. Charles smiled, closing his eyes, taking in the younger man's light scent, his fingers entangling themselves in beautiful, soft, blonde locks.

"I've been havings the sames problem. Let's goes to bed…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Toki was starting to panic. He'd spent two nights alone, now, in Nathan's bed and the singer had yet to return. Had he left the band completely? Had he gone out to kill himself, completely consumed by confusion and guilt? It seemed extreme, but altogether possible in the guitarist's fragile mind.

The Norwegian decided that if Nathan didn't show his face this evening, then he was going to go _look_ for him. He wasn't quite sure how just yet—after all, he didn't have his driver's license and he had a horrible sense of direction. Maybe Skwisgaar would help and put those recent driving lessons to good use.

But to his relief, that evening, while the rest of the band mates sat in random spots and busied themselves with different activities in the living room, Nathan emerged. Toki jumped up when the singer walked in…well, stumbled in.

"Nathans!"

Nathan quite literally looked like _hell_. Strands of his ebony hair were plastered to his face and there were bags under his eyes, as if he had one of those darn summer colds. He groaned, leaning against the doorway and then braved a few, stuttered steps toward the couch. Toki noticed that the top button on his jeans was undone.

Pickles furrowed his brow, looking up from the latest issue of _AMP _magazine.

"Holy fuckin' hell, Nate'n, yer…drunk as shit!"

"FUCK YOU, I…not, jussst…wanna fuckin' fight?" Nathan spat, unable to keep his bearings and falling back onto the floor with a massive thud, right on his ass.

Murderface snickered and Toki shot the bassist a dark look.

"Nathans…" Toki approached him and offered him a hand, his face full of concern. Nathan didn't take it and opted to try and stand on his own.

Skwisgaar, who'd been obsessively practicing his scales, was watching the scene with an amused look on his face.

"Nathans, yous needs to be goings to beds," he said, nudging Murderface on the couch and laughing softly with him.

"YOU go to bed, f-fuckin…blonde…practicin' just…keep practicin' your guitar, asssshole!" Nathan finally stood up, holding onto the back of the couch desperately for support. He tried to bat at Skwisgaar with a hand, but the Swede easily moved out of the way and stood up, setting his guitar down.

"Wheres haves you beens? We was worrieds abouts you!" Toki said. He should've known that Nathan was out getting shitfaced out of his mind.

"Toki," Murderface sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a very Ofdensen-like way, "we weren't _worried_. Maybe YOU were, but JESCHUSCH, we don't CARE, remember?" He looked at Nathan ironically. "But yeah, man, what'sch up, where the fuck were ya?"

Everyone turned to watch him and Toki stood close to the singer, ready to catch him if necessary. He was relieved to see that Nathan was in one piece, physically at least, but he'd hoped to get some answers tonight. In this state, however, that was unlikely. Or so he thought. Little did he know that alcohol worked just as well a truth serum would have on the singer.

"I f-fuckin'…ya know…" Nathan began, gripping at the leather, "Fucked a girl. Yeah?"

Murderface nodded.

"Yeah, okay, that'sch cool, okay."

"And then…" he went on, just as casually as before, "I fucked a guy."

Pickles comically spat out the drink he'd had to his lips; however, no one was watching him. Everyone's mouths fell open, including Toki's. _Especially _Toki's. They all stared like deer in headlights.

"Nathans! Ams…ams dats _true_?" The Norwegian cried. He wasn't sure how to feel about this…if it was even factual.

Skwisgaar crossed his arms and stepped back a bit, looking Nathan up and down, as if he would find the singer's story somewhere on his clothes.

"Whats de hells, Nathans, you ams GAY now?"

Pickles peered at the blonde out of the corner of his eyes dangerously. He looked back at Nathan.

"Dude, you were drunk—maybe ya should jes' go lie down…"

Murderface snorted, his eyes still wide.

"No way, man! I wanna hear thisch schit, it'sch hilariousch!" He leaned forward, as if Nathan were about to tell an epic tale. "Scho you fucked…a _guy_?"

"No way, dude," Pickles hit the bassist in the shoulder with his knuckles, "It don't count when yer drunk anyway. 'Asides, why the hell do _you_ wanna hear aboot it? Huh? Interested in the gay sex part, er what?"

He knew that irking Murderface this way would shut him up, and he was right. Pickles felt slightly sympathetic of the singer right now and didn't want him to embarrass himself any more than he already had. Pickles looked at Toki meaningfully, who quickly ran to Nathan and threw the singer's large arm around his shoulders, heaving him upright.

"Comes on, Nathans, I takes yous to bed…"

Nathan gratefully leaned on Toki and muttered incoherently all the way back to his room. Toki quite easily dragged the singer to his bed and let go, allowing him to fall back onto the bed in a slumped, sitting position. He returned to the door, shutting and locking it.

"Yous ams a mess, Nathans…" Toki whispered. He wasn't scolding; he just sounded concerned and slightly inconvenienced. But he was thankful to have the man back in his room, on his bed. Safe.

Nathan displayed a great impression of Skwisgaar with a giant "PFFT!".

"I'm fiiiiiiine," he groaned before falling back onto the mattress and staring up at the spinning ceiling.

"Yeahs, sure."

Toki removed the singer's shoes and began unbuttoning his pants to get him ready for bed. As he undressed the singer, completely to his underwear, Nathan let the entire story from the last few days pour from his lips. Despite the slurring and randomness, he was at least comprehensible.

"Toki….it was just…random…fan girl, didn't care about her—I fucked her. Or…she fucked me, or whatever. On top. Anyway…found a guy. A…he was 22 or something. Young. Like you."

He sighed heavily and continued. Toki was trying to roll him to his usual spot on the bed, throwing a sheet over his body.

"I thought maybe…I'd know, ya know? If…oh God, I gotta throw uuuup…if…but you weren't there. It wasssn't you, it wass….thiss…random guy. A guy that couldn't even…_compare_ to you, really…"

"Nathans," Toki sighed, frustrated. He turned off the light and crawled into bed beside him, stripped to his underwear, as well, "I don'ts know whats you ams goings on abouts."

Really, he was focusing on the fact that Nathan had left to get fucked. It was annoying. To think he'd worried brainlessly over _this_…

Nathan heaved himself over to his left side, to face Toki. He tried to be very plain.

"I wanted to fuck _you_, dumbf-fuck…but I…I's sscared…ALRIGHT?!" He ended in a loud, insecure bellow.

"…uh-…" Toki's eyes widened. Was Nathan…saying that he fucked that other guy because he…actually wanted to fuck _Toki_ but…couldn't because he was scared? "You…fucks some udder guys 'cause you thinks yous wants to fucks ME?"

Toki had to make sure he had the story straight. It sounded ridiculous and altogether improbable. But Nathan nodded, quite fervently.

"Yep."

Toki furrowed his brow.

"I don'ts gets it, you-"

But before he could finish reiterating his perplexity, Nathan had grabbed the guitarist around the neck with his whole arm, pulling him close and kissing him sloppily on the lips. Toki gasped and then squealed in protest as he was smashed to the singer. Finally, he was able to pull away—but Nathan still had a rather strong hold on him.

"Nathans, lets GO!" He didn't really want to be kissing Nathan right now, for a multitude of reasons: he was drunk, he'd fucked at _least_ two people in the last two days and he'd walked out on Toki after an amazing, yet obviously confusing, night of mindless passion.

"Toki…" was all Nathan said, pinning the Norwegian down, on his back, as he hovered over him and began trailing careless kisses down the younger man's neck. Toki tried to push the singer off, but damn if he wasn't strong as hell, not to mention incredibly and suddenly persistent.

But the guitarist's physical objections died down as Nathan's lips found their way to his bare chest. He felt the older man bite and suck occasionally, never staying in one place for too long. He was quickly heading south and all Toki could do was ask vague, unanswered questions.

"N-…Nathans, wha-…what ams you doings? O-Ohh…hey, d-dat's sensitives…! You ams too drunks to be doings dis…right?" Toki let his head fall back as the singer licked along his hip bone evocatively, his strong hands moving quite purposefully up Toki's thighs.

How could Toki object any longer? It just felt so…_good_. And he deserved this.

Nathan completely ignored Toki's babbling. His intoxicated mind was set: he was _going_ to suck Toki off, whether he had to tie him down or not. While he was gone, it had been hard to think about anything _but_ the Norwegian, even though that had been his goal. With his inhibitions out the window, he pulled down the younger man's underwear, licking messily up his thigh. He tossed the last article of clothing to the floor.

"Nathans, w-…!" Toki felt quite bashful, despite his very well sculpted muscles and perfect body. But he didn't move away and he let the singer position himself into a lying position in between his legs, on his stomach, his hands holding Toki's hips down firmly.

It was obvious that Toki was excited, his erection betraying his former disapproval. Nathan smiled viciously before diving right in and taking half of Toki's hard flesh in his mouth.

Toki's reaction was exciting to the singer. The little Norwegian threw his head back onto the pillow and his body, overall, _relaxed_ into the moment. He was letting the shocking pleasure course through his fiery blood and had lost his consciousness to the warm wetness of Nathan's willing mouth. He let out a squeaky moan and buried his hands in ebony locks, tugging quite gently.

"N-Nathans…mm…./n/ I can't believe you-…ohhh…feels so good…/n/"

The incoherent Norwegian pouring from Toki's mouth was all the extra encouragement Nathan needed. He was being sloppy about his work, but not purposefully—his concentration was stolen from him by the bottle of Stoli he'd earlier consumed, but he was trying his hardest; he was mindful of his teeth and remembered to suck, his hands roaming around to Toki's ass and kneading the flesh there.

It was all the guitarist could do to not thrust up. Nathan's hold on his hips was weakening, but he didn't want to choke the older man and scare him away. Occasionally, he would look down, as if reassuring himself that it really _was_ Nathan Explosion between his legs, now trying to deep throat his cock and nearly succeeding. As Toki's body tensed and his cries became more fervent, Nathan increased his speed, bobbing his head and working his tongue eagerly.

"/n/ N-Nathans, please, don't st-..!! I'm going to cum, ohhh I'm going to-…!/n/"

Toki tried to bat at the singer's shoulder, giving him the indication that he was close to exploding; but Nathan refused to come up and so the younger man gave in. His body shook with orgasm as he came into Nathan's mouth, causing the man to pull away, coughing and sputtering, clearly refusing to swallow any at this point. The last spurt landed right on his cheek and Toki tried to breathe an apology.

"I-I tolds you tos…gets away…" but he didn't sound too concerned. He let his head drop and his eyes close, his hands stroking Nathan's hair affectionately, his mind aloof.

While thoroughly embarrassed, Nathan loved seeing Toki this way; completely spent because of something _he'd_ done to him. He hadn't expected the image to shake him so.

Wiping his face on the first available cloth source, the singer crawled up to lay beside Toki, on his stomach. His eyes began to droop as his drunkenness began to, once again, take over.

"Thanks you…" Toki was able to whisper.

"C'mere," Nathan grunted and Toki happily squirmed underneath his strong arm, pulling the covers up around them. It seemed that reciprocation would have to wait—Nathan was close to passing out. Toki said goodnight with a kiss on the forehead and snuggled in.

There, in Nathan's arms, it felt like home again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pickles rarely utilized the key given to him by Ofdensen that was to the manager's office; he used the apartment one much more, as he usually arrived at Charles' very late. The drummer had never had much of a reason to sneak into his lover's office in Mordhaus, mainly because it was usually unlocked until he was inside.

But on this particular, Wednesday night…the drummer was grateful he'd been given that key, more than a year ago. Charles' trust in Pickles was going to be Skwisgaar's downfall. He wasn't letting that slut get away with what he'd done. He was trying to steal Charles away from him.

It wasn't hard to sneak down the hall after midnight; everyone was in bed and the random Klokateers that usually roamed weren't allowed on this floor so late, unless called for. Knowing this, the drummer unlocked the office door and slipped inside, shutting it carefully behind him.

He made his way to Charles' desk by the shielded window, turning on a small lamp that sat atop it. Then he turned to the safe by the wall that heavily guarded the personal information about each member of Dethklok. In the safe were individual folders, neatly labeled by their first names. The drummer had spent the last week memorizing the code to the safe; he'd come in three times for various reasons, asking Charles to look at his personal folder, claiming to be interested. He'd watched the man open it each time.

It was a nine digit number and had to be entered correctly the first time, or an alarm was set off. He took in a sharp breath and fell to his knees, his nimble fingers working the dial. After the last number, he heard the shifting of gears and was able to pull the heavy door open by its steel handle.

There was nothing in the safe aside from those files, but they held enough top secret information to be worthy of such a fortress; Pickles' real name, Murderface's legal records, evidence of Nathan's stint in rehab for alcohol, letters from Toki's mother that he would never receive, and finally…the folder that Pickles had been searching for.

He removed the manila folder labeled "SKWISGAAR" and opened it, pulling out a torn piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. He copied onto it the necessary information and then placed the folder back into the safe, in its original spot.

He shut the safe carefully and rose to turn off the desk lamp. He exited swiftly, locking the office behind him, and continued down the hall to his own room. Once inside, he shut his door and smiled maliciously, pulling the piece of crumpled paper from his pocket.

_Nybrokajen, SE-109 34, Stockholm, Sweden._

Serveta Skwigelf's home address.


	8. Chapter 8

The driving lesson had been half-hearted; Charles hadn't really taught Skwisgaar anything new, but he supposed the practice was necessary regardless. After all, soon enough he would need to contact a local BMV to get the younger man his license. But the manager, honestly, had really just wanted to get out of the house. Pickles' eyes were constantly on him and the drummer had been consistently showing up at his apartment, every evening, around seven o'clock. They hadn't broken up, officially, but there remained an obvious tension between them that, as of now, continued to be unspoken.

This had kept Skwisgaar from being able to come _near _the older man; except for earlier that day, when the Swede had slyly slipped into Charles' office to give and receive a quick blowjob. It had been rushed, and quite messy, but appreciated because of its dangerousness. It was starting to feel like a tried and true affair.

Somewhere in the back of Charles' complicated mind, he was aware of the fact that he was deeply hurting the man he'd devoted himself to years ago. But Pickles rarely plagued his common thoughts. Yes, Charles did feel guilty; but Skwisgaar had become a hard habit to break. He was sure that Pickles suspected that he still wanted the Swede; but the redhead secretly knew that Skwisgaar's punishment would come soon enough and he, Pickles, would stand, vindicated and victorious, with Charles at his side.

Now, the two sat once again in Skwisgaar's Honda on their favorite cliff. It reminded Charles of a more secure and definitely more awkward time, though he voiced none of this.

"Beautiful sunset," the manager commented idly, sitting rather stiffly in the passenger seat.

Skwisgaar nodded.

"Ja."

He lounged back, his long legs splayed out in front of him, his hands behind his head. The older man looked over, steadying his gaze on Skwisgaar. He'd thrown his hair back and Charles could clearly see the soft, pale skin of the guitarist's defined cheekbones.

_God_, he was beautiful. But he wore a troubled expression.

"Skwisgaar is…something wrong?" Charles frowned.

The blonde pursed his lips momentarily before speaking up, taking his time to word his feelings correctly.

"I can'ts stands it," he finally admitted.

Charles simply raised his eyebrows, waiting for the younger man to continue.

"I can'ts stands knowing dats he is…wid you every nights."

He clenched his fists that he moved to rest on his legs. He didn't dare look at the manager; this was far too embarrassing an admission. He couldn't believe that he, Skwisgaar Skwigelf, was even capable of jealousy. He'd felt it initially when Charles had first told him that he was involved with Pickles; but now it was raging, boiling and spilling over into his heart and mind. He couldn't stop it. He sat alone – yes, _alone_ – most nights, in his room, his guitar on his lap, his mind riddled with envy. He'd often had the urge to march down to Charles' apartment, perhaps just to put his ear to the front door and listen…

…did they make love? Did they talk? Did they cuddle? Did Charles laugh at all of Pickles' jokes and stories? Did the older man ever think of him while he was with the drummer? Did Pickles ever get him drunk and take advantage?

Skwisgaar had become even more frustrated due to the fact that, as of late, he'd been unable to practice for hours on end like he used to. It was becoming harder to completely clear his mind and focus on the physical sensation of his calloused fingers moving up and down the frets.

He _needed_ Charles. It was humiliating, but he'd never felt so close to someone. Jesus, he'd let the man _inside_ of him…and that thought was driving him mad.

"Skwisgaar…" Charles bit his lip.

What was he supposed to say? In all honesty, he preferred being with Skwisgaar. But he wasn't sure of the helpfulness of that statement and so he chose something less committed.

"Pickles and I have been trying to talk things out, but…it _is_ difficult."

The Swede furrowed his brow and finally braved a glance at the manager.

"Ja?...Why is dat?"

Charles sighed, looking down at his own hands.

"Well, mainly because…he sees right through my façade. Er-…lie," he added, figuring that Skwisgaar wouldn't know the meaning of the former.

The blonde nodded gravely.

"Your lie. De lies dats you loves him."

It was more of a statement than a question and Charles looked over at the other man, slightly abashed. He always expected Skwisgaar to maintain the dull, flighty rock star mindset that he'd always conveyed; up until a month ago, that is. He never expected the younger man to be so intuitive.

"…yes. That lie."

Skwisgaar held Charles' gaze meaningfully for a moment before looking back out at the ocean. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it and closed it again, swallowing hard.

Charles licked his lips, still watching the blonde.

"Skwisgaar…surely you can understand why I am reticent to give up my relationship with Pickles."

Skwisgaar simply shook his head and Charles felt his stomach drop. He really hadn't wanted to say this out loud. But when he did, he kept his voice very soft and non-threatening.

"Well…if I did…what else is there for me?"

The Swede seemed to consider this briefly before looking back at Charles in an interrogating manner.

"Whats do yous mean? Der is me!" He sounded quite defensive. To emphasize his point, he reached over and placed one, long-fingered hand on the manager's knee.

Charles smiled softly, placing his hand over the Swede's. But he shook his head, while keeping his eyes on their now intertwining fingers. He felt very warmed by this gesture, but it in no way collapsed his point.

"What do you have to offer me, Skwisgaar? You don't believe in relationships…or at least I assume. You've made that very clear before, especially with the other band members."

He knew that it wasn't entirely Skwisgaar's fault – the man hadn't exactly had any great, respectable figures in his early life to show him the true benefit of love and monogamy. The Swede was silent and so Charles continued.

"Not that I can blame you. I can see why you wouldn't have any faith in being with just one person. It doesn't seem realistic to you."

He looked over into Skwisgaar's eyes compassionately.

"I'm not asking you to change anything for me. But I have to look out for myself…and it would be hard for me to simply accept sex and intermittent company from someone I care deeply about. I certainly couldn't watch my lover indulge in promiscuity from time to time."

The Swede watched Charles carefully, his lips slightly parted in concentration. As the translator worked slowly in his head, he began to comprehend the older man's reasoning; he didn't think that Skwisgaar could necessarily fill the void that Pickles would be leaving.

"I's nots good enoughs for yous," he stated plainly, though his eyes revealed his sorrow.

He'd never wanted to be more right for anyone in his entire life; and yet he couldn't argue with what Charles had accused him of. He _didn't_ think that relationships worked. And he couldn't exactly just have a boyfriend and drop women – it all seemed so final and ultimate.

But that doubt didn't keep his heart from breaking. Unless he offered Charles what Pickles had and _more_, then he was going to be left out in the cold.

Charles furrowed his brow empathetically.

"You're perfect the way you are. It's not bad, or wrong, it's just a different lifestyle. I'm not a very sharing person, Skwisgaar; I like my men to be devoted. You can see my dilemma…"

_As well as my hypocrisy,_ Charles added mentally, though he was sure that it hadn't crossed Skwisgaar's mind.

Skwisgaar tightened his grip on the manager's hand and stared at the steering wheel. He felt quite desperate. The only thing that could save him now was honesty; and so he began. He closed his eyes tightly as he spoke, as if it were painful.

"Charles, I-…I sits alone ats night, thinkinks abouts you…wants to holds you. Wants to kiss you. But _he_ is der, ands I knows dat ands it bodders me sos much."

Charles watched with an aggrieved expression. Skwisgaar continued.

"I's never felts de need to _bes_ wid anybody. But…wid you, I's…rather bes wid you thans alone. Can'ts even plays my dildo guitar rights anysmore."

He clenched his eyes shut more tightly.

"Ands wid Pickle…he's der every nights, makings you moan and kissings you and touchings you…and I wants to kills him.

He opened his eyes, which were now filled with tears and he looked over at Charles rather pitifully, just giving into his emotion.

"I's never wanted…to bes a betters person. Untils I gets to knows you. You makes me wants to be de kinds of guy dat you wants…I's hates my mom for beings the way dat I's am. I wants to stops."

Charles felt so deeply touched by Skwisgaar's confession, as well as his tears. He reached out with both arms and the Swede leaned into the embrace, burying his face in Charles' neck and whispering.

"Please…don'ts lets him bes der tonights…lets me stay…I ams misses you…"

The older man put his face to Skwisgaar's beautiful, golden locks and nodded, completely unable to refuse.

"Okay."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Toki half expected to wake up alone, once again. He could barely contain himself when he opened his eyes and felt the smooth chest of Dethklok's lead singer underneath his cheek. Memories of the previous night came flooding back to him and he grinned from ear to ear, wrapping his arm around Nathan, who was still dead asleep.

Nathan _had_ been drunk…terribly drunk. But Toki had always believed that inebriated emotions were _true_ emotions. As far as he was concerned, the singer was awfully repressed; but he'd had a determination to him last night that could not be mistaken.

Nathan had sucked Toki's dick, in the ultimate act of gayness. It hadn't been some "friendly jack-off" and it would be much harder to ignore. Toki hoped that he didn't want to.

The Norwegian watched the older man sleep peacefully, tracing circles absently on his stomach. Nathan looked so sweet – at least to Toki – when he was unconscious; there were no grimace lines, no scrunched brow…he appeared happier.

The singer stirred and Toki froze; he was suddenly filled with terror. There was a good chance that Nathan didn't even remember last night – and an even greater chance that, if he did, he'd be horrified. The guitarist didn't know if he could handle rejection right now and he especially didn't want Nathan running away again.

Nathan's eyes fluttered open and first came a groan as he moved his hand to his throbbing head.

"Fuck…" he muttered.

But he didn't seem surprised that Toki was there. He rolled over, irritated that there was sunlight trying to peek through his curtains, and buried his face in the Norwegian's hair, wrapping his arm around the younger man. He pulled him close, by the small of his back, sighing contently.

Toki felt his heart flutter, a giddy, bubbling excitement rising from his chest to his throat. He hugged Nathan tightly, grateful that he was not only welcome, but wanted. He felt the singer's strong hand very lightly and carelessly caressing Toki's back; it was a small gesture, but one that, nonetheless, told the younger man that Nathan knew he was there.

Toki didn't want to ruin the moment, but he needed more reassurance that Nathan was at least okay with what had happened the night before. He wrapped his leg around the older man, the sheets around them, and smiled. He whispered softly into his ear.

"Nathans…"

The singer grunted and Toki giggled.

"Goods morning. Is almost two o'clocks!"

Nathan actually chuckled, keeping his eyes closed and face buried. His voice was slightly muffled.

"Seriously?"

Toki beamed.

"Ja, we sleeps in reals late."

"Hmph. Who cares. Still tired."

Toki nodded. He could stay in bed all day with Nathan, if he wanted. But just as he settled himself back into the older man, they heard a roaring scream erupt from Skwisgaar's room, down the hall. Toki's eyes shot open – the lead guitarist was cursing and screaming in Swedish and, from the sound of all the breaking glass and furniture, throwing things across his room.

"Fuckin' asshole," Nathan commented, not nearly as alarmed as Toki.

But the Norwegian had a horrible feeling in his gut – mainly because he could decipher Skwisgaar's irate babble.

"/s/ I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE'S FUCKING HERE! WHO-…WHO LET HER IN?! HOW-…HOW DID SHE GET _IN?!_/s/"

There was only one woman in the world who could send Skwisgaar Skwigelf into such a fury.

Serveta.

Toki jumped up, pulling on his jeans; despite their often bitter nagging and public confessions of hatred, Skwisgaar and Toki _were_ friends. It was hard not to feel a certain attachment to each other with how much time they'd spent together – practicing guitar, joking about the superiority of Scandinavian culture and sometimes drinking imported red wines and German beers.

The younger guitarist wasn't going necessarily out of loyalty, but true concern; if the blonde's mother truly _had_ shown up at Mordhaus, then hell could very surely break loose.

And Toki knew how _he_ would feel, should _his_ parents show up. He just had to help.

Without thinking, Toki stumbled out of Nathan's room, still buttoning his jeans. Nathan called after him inquisitively, but there was no time to explain. The rhythm guitarist just hoped that his half-nakedness would be ignored as he hurriedly threw open Skwisgaar's bedroom door.

The room was a complete wreck. The flat screen TV that hung perpendicular to the lead guitarist's bed was destroyed in more ways than one, having fallen to the stone floor below it after the screen had been smashed in. Skwisgaar's favorite fur comforter was torn and tattered, in the corner by the window, which was also broken in several places.

As Toki's eyes scanned the room, he froze; he didn't want to seem like just another object for the Swede to take his rage out on, and so he opted to stay by the door, which he left open. Safety first.

His eyes finally landed on the blonde, who was clenching his fists impossibly tight, his back to Toki, staring out the second, untouched window. His face was contorted into a horrifying expression of fervent hatred and Toki could swear that the older man's irises appeared blood-red.

"S-Skwisgaar…?"

The Swede spoke to Toki as if he'd been there the whole time. His teeth clenched and heart pounding, he whispered with such acridity that the Norwegian almost whimpered.

"/s/ I'm going to _kill_ her… she has no right to be here…I'm going…to _kill_ her. /s/"

Toki blinked and swallowed hard. He wasn't sure, exactly, whether Skwisgaar truly _was_ speaking to him; it seemed as if he may have been simply muttering to himself.

"S-Skwisgaar…whats ams going on?"

The Swede didn't answer and just as Toki began to take a very timid step closer, Charles flew into the room, his face distressed and almost pained. He didn't seem to notice the younger guitarist at first, watching Skwisgaar. He sure got closer than Toki dared to get, even going so far as to place a comforting hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"Skwisgaar, I _assure_ you, I don't even know how she got in. I've already dealt with security and they're ready to get rid of her on my command. Just say the word and…and she'll be gone." His hand went to a small, black walkie-talkie that he had at his hip.

It was the first time that Toki had heard the manager sound rather shaky and unsettled. He was always so business-like and blasé about the band's personal troubles; but he seemed to really…_care_.

And as Toki saw Skwisgaar physically relax at Ofdensen's touch, he narrowed his eyes. The younger man watched as Charles' hand moved in very slow, deliberate circles on the older guitarist's back…watched as the Swede turned his face towards the manager and allowed for an injured, almost vulnerable, expression…watched as Charles whispered comforting things to Skwisgaar, into his ear…

Of course the Norwegian couldn't understand why, but this sight was upsetting. No one should be able to calm _his_ Skwisgaar down, except him. Who the hell did Mr. Managers think he was, pretending to care all of the sudden?

A sour taste flooded Toki's mouth and he clenched his fists. His stomach turned into knots as he realized that neither man was even acknowledging his presence. The fact that all of these sudden emotions were more confusing than overwhelming was frustrating enough. He turned on his heel, ready to leave, but was stopped dead in his tracks by a _horrifying_ sound, far worse than any curse or scream.

Skwisgaar sobbed.

He buried his face in Charles' shoulder and as Toki turned, he could see the blonde's shoulders shaking. He was mumbling in Swedish, most of it incoherent, though the Norwegian understood as Skwisgaar began to repeat "I don't know" in his native tongue over and over again.

"Jag vet inte…J-…Jag vet inte…" He sobbed once more.

Ofdensen furrowed his brow. He at least knew what that meant. How could the Swede be _unsure_?

"S-…Skwisgaar, I…I don't understand. Don't you want me to send her away?"

Toki pursed his lips. _He_ understood. He understood, very well, the complicated love/hate relationship one could have with their parents: the feeling of wanting to kill and keep them in the same flash of emotion. The younger man took in a deep breath and approached the other two men, stepping in and easily pulling them apart.

He looked at Charles meaningfully, his icy blue eyes cold.

"She ams his _moms_," he stated plainly, sounding quite defensive.

The manager blinked, thoroughly stunned by Toki's sudden interference; and even more shocked that he'd been pushed away from Skwisgaar. He remained silent, watching the Swede's reaction. Toki turned to the blonde, speaking in his native tongue to purposefully exclude Charles.

"/n/ Do you maybe just want to talk to her? Ask her why she's here?/n/"

Skwisgaar didn't catch on to the rudeness, too distracted by his current dilemma. He wiped his eyes and turned away from the other two men, embarrassed.

"/s/ No, I can't do that…/s/" But he sounded uncertain.

Charles eyed Toki, annoyed and very put off. But he stepped back, nonetheless, giving the two their space.

"/n/ Are you sure? /n/"

Skwisgaar clenched his fists at his sides, staring back out at the yard wolves in the dead gardens, narrowing his reddened, slightly puffy eyes.

"/s/ I'm sure. Just get out. GET OUT!! /s/ GETS OUT, GETS OUT OF HERES, BOTHS OF YOUS!"

He marched off to his bathroom and threw the door shut, nearly splitting it in half. Charles widened his eyes.

"Toki, what did you say to him?!"

Toki turned, wide-eyed, to the manager.

"Nothins! I asks him if he's wants to talks to his moms, but he says no!"

"Well of _course _he doesn't want to speak with her."

Toki grimaced, but thought better of mouthing off to the older man.

"I's going to gets Nathans," he muttered before disappearing out into the hall.

Charles furrowed his brow. Going to get Nathan? He didn't have much time to dwell on Toki's odd response as he heard more things being broken and thrown in the bathroom in which Skwisgaar had disappeared.

The manager stood for nearly half an hour trying to coax the Swede out, leaning against the locked bathroom door. But Skwisgaar simply wasn't responding and he was successful in quieting his sobs so that Charles couldn't hear.

"Skwisgaar…please…" Charles' voice sounded broken, "Please, let me in…let's talk, okay? I won't do anything without your permission…but she stays until you give the command."

He pleaded to no avail – not even an acknowledgement. Quite defeated, he left the room, heading for his apartment, after informing security to continue to keep Serveta detained until further notice. He opened the door to his home, fumbling a bit with the lock uncharacteristically.

This wasn't _fair_. It was childish of him to think so, and even more selfish, but last night had just been so amazing. Skwisgaar had stayed and – despite giving the blonde a tidy blowjob just before bed – there had been no sex. They'd watched some horrible movies, attempted to cook a meal together and talked sparsely about unsystematic subjects.

Being with the Swede had become so _easy_. There were no worries about being caught, or confusions over domination and submission. They just enjoyed each other's company, thoroughly, for many reasons.

_Finally_, he thought, as he righted the lock and opened the door. He flipped on the main hall light switch, turning around to close the door. He removed his jacket and dropped his keys on the small table next to the coat rack. After hanging up his jacket and tie, he continued on into the kitchen. He kept his cell and radio close, in case the situation with Skwisgaar changed. He had been told to be alerted immediately, and a particularly reliable Klokateer had been left in charge to watch the Swede distantly.

He grabbed a wine glass, opening up a new bottle of Black Cat Riesling, pouring it rather lazily as he entered the living room. He set the bottle down and then froze. He didn't have to flip on the light; he saw Pickles' outline well enough in the dark. The younger man was sitting, laid back, on the couch.

Charles' whole body tensed…until he realized that the drummer wasn't moving or speaking. Finally, he turned on the light and revealed that the redhead was simply asleep. He let out a slow breath – what the hell had he expected? Pickles to be waiting with an axe to chop him to pieces?

At the sudden brightness, the drummer's eyes flickered open. He jumped a bit, startled to see Charles standing at the entryway.

"Charlie!"

The way he rubbed his eyes made Charles' chest cave slightly; he wasn't sure why it was happening _now_, but the sight of Pickles waiting for him on his couch broke his heart with guilt. It was what he'd always wanted, right? The steady, caring boyfriend who arrived early, or waited up for his lover – the boyfriend he'd hoped that Pickles could have been.

"Pickles…is everything all right?"

The drummer nodded, sleepily, and he appeared innocent enough. He patted the spot beside him on the couch, encouraging the manager to move closer.

"I was jes'…ya know, waitin' for ya. Wanted ta get dinner with ya tonight…"

Charles furrowed his brow. He gulped down a good mouthful of wine, wondering if he had heard the younger man correctly.

"…to get dinner? You…want me to order Chinese?"

Pickles laughed. Was that a hint of desperation in the drumer's voice?

"Nah, like…go. Ta dinner. A restaurant?"

Charles had to work to keep his jaw from dropping.

"You..want to go _out_? Pickles, I-…I thought-"

"Yee-uh, I know…"

The drummer rose from his seat, biting his lip. He walked very slowly over to Charles, affectionately wrapping his arms around the older man's neck after taking the liberty of stealing the manager's wine glass and setting it on the coffee table. It was a submissive position that he rarely took. He looked into Charles' wide, brown eyes.

"Ah've been thinkin'…I want ta be better for ya, Charlie. I wanna be da guy ya always wanted…I want people ta know about us…"

Charles froze, his pain and guilt reaching a new height. Oh, how he would've longed to hear those words months, even years ago…but were they enough now?

As the manager watched the drummer's swimming, serious, emerald eyes, he considered the options presented to him. He could pursue this push in their relationship and possibly risk a horrible reaction from the other guys, from the media…from Pickles, himself. He could leave the drummer, for good, and venture into horribly precarious territory with Skwisgaar, possibly ending in getting his heart ripped from his chest when the Swede awoke one day and decided to deny it all.

He was being awfully pessimistic.

But it was in his nature, after all. And Pickles' suddenly open behavior could simply be the result of his obvious nervousness about his competition…

"Pickles," Charles began and he shivered slightly as the younger man began to trail kisses down his ear and neck, his fingers playing idly with the hair at the base of the manager's neck.

_Damn him_…

"Pickles, I-…what brought this on? It could ruin your reputation, remember? A-Ahh…."

The drummer smiled, continuing his distraction by licking up Charles' neck and whispering in his ear.

"I jes' wanna be better for you…I told ya."

"I'm not so sure that…going public is the best idea right now."

Couples out themselves when they're _secure_, when they're _ready_; hell, when they're actually _together_. He wasn't even sure what he and Pickles were at the moment; it hadn't really been discussed, recently, at all.

Pickles frowned and pulled away, just far enough to look back into the manager's eyes. He looked determined…severe, even.

"There are only two ways I could think of ta show ya dat I wanna take this further…"

Charles raised his eyebrows, his voice rather calm.

"And what, exactly, is the second way?"

The drummer swallowed hard. He moved his mouth back to the manager's ear, not wanting Charles to see the falling resolution in his expression.

"I want you ta fuck me."

Charles had not been expecting _that_.

At the words alone, he felt his knees go slightly weak. Despite all of the trials they'd faced, he still wasn't prepared for this temptation. The manager knew, _exactly_, the message that Pickles was conveying: If you stay with _me_, then you can fuck me…

It was hard for Charles to accept this; he didn't want the offer to be a bribe. But it was and he was too intuitive not to recognize it. But he desperately wanted to be blind to it. He wanted Pickles to want the older man inside of him because he _loved_ him, as an act of ultimate devotion.

But maybe, for the time being, he would accept the mirage of commitment…he did feel quite deserving, after all…


End file.
